


Samskeyti

by brokentoy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Best Friends, Community: deancasbigbang, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 02:27:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokentoy/pseuds/brokentoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts when they're sixteen: Dean is flunking his classes and Castiel is his strangely persistent tutor. They grow into best friends, and now that they're adults (or at least they're supposed to be) into best friends with benefits. They agree: no strings attached, no feelings to complicate the fantastic sex.<br/>Things are supposed to be simple, and yet they aren't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Samskeyti

**Author's Note:**

> **Art:  @kenshymidzu's journal**[here](http://kenshymidzu.livejournal.com/623.html) and on his deviantArt [here](http://kenshymidzu.deviantart.com/). 
> 
> A/N: Thank you to kallista85, because without her I wouldn't even have started this, to [triedunture](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/), because she was the fantastic help I needed to stick with it, and the entirety of my twitter timeline because you guys are the best with the cheerleading. Special thanks to @Doci for the additional beta.  
> This whole experience has been wonderful (though stressing at times, not gonna lie) and I had a really good time writing this. Even better, I got to work with [kenshymidzu](http://kenshymidzu.livejournal.com/) and it was real a pleasure; be sure to check his art for this story, it's truly beautiful.
> 
> For info about the title, [here](http://brokentoy.livejournal.com/23386.html) at the story Masterpost.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
 

 

 

When Dean first saw him, he didn't spare a second glance his way.

It was a drunken night like many others, the fact that he had school in the morning a passing thought in his mind as he finished yet another beer. He wouldn't describe himself as a sociable character, but you learn to bond over booze and he didn't really mind the company as long as they let him be.  

The guys were okay: Ash and Andy were a couple of years older than him but by no means legally able to drink; still they found themselves together one or two times a week to talk, smoke and taunt each other over the beers his friends were always able to bring along.

With all the alcohol in his system Dean couldn’t really be blamed when he didn't even realize an unknown face had joined their little crowd; when he first spoke, though, his attention was suddenly drawn to the new guy.

He was a bit shorter than Dean — an inch or so — and a little more slightly built. Black ruffled hair and an expression bordering on irritated as he looked Dean up and down from head to toe. Twice.

Ash was too busy rolling a joint in the front seat of his car and Andy was currently digging up a six-pack from the dark recesses of his truck, so Dean and this weird guy were the only ones standing in the forgotten parking lot at the outskirts of town where they usually met.

It wasn't anything special: just a little square of concrete abandoned to itself when the highway changed its course around town, some twenty years back. Nothing special, maybe, but it was Dean’s place.

It was there that his father taught him to drive his car — a beautiful black beast, a 1967 Chevy Impala that was now his very own Baby — and Dean liked it. Nobody ever bothered him and his friends there, and the only reason Dean could come up with for that was that nobody really cared to check what they were up to.

The weird little dude kept looking at him with an intensity that was rapidly escalating from annoying to aggravating, and Dean gulped down what little was left of his beer and said “What are you looking at?”

“You are Dean Winchester.”

Not an answer or a question. A simple observation tinged with disappointment, and Dean now really wanted to know who this boy was to come up and talk to him like that.

“Yeah, so what? Who are you anyway?”

“I'm your tutor,” the boy said, eyes dropping from Dean's face to focus on something right behind him. The trees, maybe? Dean didn't know.

“My what? I don't know what you're talking about, dude, but I don't know you. You should go back where you came from.”

The guy took a breath looking like someone whose patience was running short. Dean almost wanted to smile at that; he didn't know him from Adam, but he always found it amusing how fast he could rile people up with his shitty attitude and a couple of well-placed words.

“Principal Shurley appointed me to help you with your literature class. He gave me your address but nobody answered at your house.”

He didn't explain further, and Dean wondered how the fuck this boy found him. Somebody at the school probably told him where he was; it wasn't really a secret what Dean did with his evenings and he was fine with it as long as his father or Sammy didn't find out. He stayed out of trouble most of the time, enjoying booze and a joint or two when he felt like it, but he always found a way to sober up before he went back home.

He didn't need Sammy to worry for him. It was a school night, Sam needed to sleep so he could be rested for his classes.

“What did you go to my house for?” he said, speech a little slurred now that the last of his beer kicked into his system.

The boy looked at him like he was the single most stupid thing on the planet, and _eh_ , Dean thought, _like I've never seen that look before._

“As I said, I'm you tutor. I wanted to settle a time and place for us to meet next week and start on the program.”

Tutor.

Fuck Principle Shurley and fuck that school, Dean didn't need a tutor.

He half-remembered that Chuck ( **“** _I would prefer you wouldn’t call me that, Dean. I'm still the principal of this school, you know.”_ ) had mentioned to him that he was failing English Literature on top of Math and Chemistry, and if he continued like that he would fail his whole year.

Dean had told him he didn't care, that he hadn’t dropped out of high school already only because his baby brother kept telling him how important school was for his future, but Chuck only smiled a nervous smile and told him to not give up, babbling about opportunities and making the most out of your own life.

Dean hadn't even answered, just nodding vaguely on his way to the door, eager to leave the school behind.

That had been about two weeks ago and he had long forgotten about it until now, when his _tutor_ decided to show up unannounced.

“Dude, I don't know what Chuck told you but believe me, I don't need a tutor.”

“What  _Principal Shurley_ told me is irrelevant. I know little about you, Dean Winchester, but I know enough to be convinced a tutor is exactly what you need right now. You have been failing your sophomore year class after class, and I have subscribed to the tutoring program to help cases just like yours.”

Dean smirked, licking his lips. This guy spoke like he never really had to make an effort to put more than a couple of sentences together and now he was pissed at Dean for forcing him to explain himself.

Good.

“Well, _cases_ like mine are not easily solved. Fuck off, I don't need your help.”

Dean could see Ash's mullet from the side window of his car, bobbing in time with the music as he took an experimental first whiff out of his joint. He craved a hit, too; it had been close to three weeks since the last time he smoked and he was in the mood for some weed.

“Believe me, you do.”

The guy was relentless, eyes settling anew on Dean's face like there was a New York Times crossword puzzle etched on it, waiting to be solved. He still hadn't introduced himself, and where the fuck was the world going if being polite was not an option anymore for someone who so proudly declared himself atutor?

“Man, I don't even know your name, why would I ever agree to have you as my tutor?”

This was ridiculous, really.

Dean smirked and leaned down to get another beer, and just because he was raised with manners he nodded in invitation to the other guy.

“No, thank you—” he said, like it was normal to be offered alcohol by sixteen-year-olds you were supposed to help through school “—and my name is Castiel Novak. Should we settle an appointment now, so I can go home and leave you to your business?”

“Aww, Cas, you're no fun at all. Why won't you just stay here? Drink with us and forget about school, would you?”

Castiel flinched at the nickname that easily escaped Dean's lips and with a voice getting lower with indignation answered:

"My name is _Castiel_ , not Cas. And I think next Wednesday at five o'clock would be a reasonably good time for us to meet.”

“Well,  _Castiel_ **—”** Dean put too much emphasis on the name and thought, through the haze of his clouded mind, that this guy's parents must be a couple of weirdos to name their son like that, “—what if I'm busy next Wednesday at, uh, five o'clock?”

“It is not my problem. I have your address, I expect you to be there.”

Dean laughed at that, because really this one was a piece of work. “Dude, who do you think you are? Do you really think you'll be able to help me out? You don't know shit about me.”

Castiel started walking to the other side of the parking lot, barely casting a glance Andy's way when he saw him coming back to them, six-pack in hand. “As I said, I know enough. I don't like repeating myself, Dean. I'll see you on Wednesday.”

And with that he walked away, leaving Dean alone with his beer and a drunken smirk.

 

 

 

 

****

 

The buzzer breaks the tense silence in the room and Dean looks away from Castiel’s eyes and to the door.

“It’s her,” he says, and it comes out apologetic and defiant. Castiel looks at him coldly, all the heat from their fight draining from his face as his careful mask slides back in place right in front of Dean. It doesn’t happen often, at least not so clearly, but Dean knows his best friend well enough to understand what he’s doing.

Castiel has this weird way of shutting him out from time to time, without excuse nor explanation, and Dean has spent most of the years they’ve known each other trying to find a way to peel that mask away and see what lies underneath. They know each other from the inside out but still Dean feels like there are things Castiel keeps deep inside himself, and there are times where he wants to scream at Cas, punch him in the face and ask him to just  _talk_.

But not tonight. Tonight is for fighting without even raising their voices; cold shoulders and colder looks as Dean acts once again like the asshole he knows he’s not and pays the price of his choices.  

The buzzer chirps again, insistent, and Dean curses under his breath.

“Listen Cas—” he tries to say, but Castiel just looks at him with a neutral expression and turns around.

“Go, don’t let her wait,” he throws behind his back, calm and monotone and already on his way to his bedroom.

Dean is left in the middle of the room with words he doesn’t really know the meaning of still sitting on his tongue. He wants to speak, needs to find a way to calm the tension sitting heavy between the two of them, but Castiel is gone and hidden behind his door before he is quick enough to act.

He doesn’t understand. Not really, not completely. He’s stupid and he knows it; when it comes to trying to make sense of what is happening around him through a mess of feelings and sensations, he might as well be blind. He’s useless at that and even though he kind of _does_ know what it is he’s doing here he doesn’t really have a full grasp on it yet.

He hears the buzzer for a third time and he snaps. “Fuck!”

His jacket is lying on the back of the couch and he grips it in his frustration; he goes to get his keys and there, right beside them, he can see the tickets: neatly tucked into an open envelope and ready to go. He stops by door, tries to slow his heartbeat down and calm himself enough to fake a smile.

Somewhere deep down Dean knows he just screwed up big and he tries to tell himself that it’s okay. It’s not a big deal.

This is not a big deal. He knows that. Castiel knows that.

He sighs bitterly, takes a look at his watch and hurries down the stairs to meet his date.  

 

 

 

  
 

 

Jumping up and down in the apartment was nothing short of habit for Dean, especially while his father was away from work and Sam was still in the library being his usual geeky self. There was something liberating about unleashing the sound from his old stereo — a crappy thing almost as old as Dean himself, yes, but still perfectly capable of blowing some good sound when it was needed — and just let it go for a little while.  

The ritual was always the same: choose the cassette, put it in the player, blast the volume up and just forget. Forget about school, forget about finding the odd job around the neighborhood so he could help pay the bills, forget about the vapid girls he hooked up with and never called back. Forget everything, in short, and just air-guitar his way into the evening until it was time to go and pick Sam up.

It was his personal time. Music helped him in some obscure way and so Dean never wasted a second of his time alone at home without it.

So of course there he was, bobbing his head in time with the heavy rhythm shooting from the speakers and completely inside his perfect bubble of awesome when another noise started infiltrating in between the thumping bass and drums coming from the stereo; it grated on his nerves as it insinuated itself deeper and deeper in his brain, annoying in its relentlessness.

Dean tried to ignore it, because this was his time alone and he deserved it without interruptions, but when the song finished and the full force of the banging on the front door assaulted him Dean couldn’t do anything but get up from his couch and ruefully stop the music to go check.

Their familial situation was not simple to begin with, what with Dean and Sam often left to their own devices as Dad went off on jobs for days at a time or with the fact that money always seemed to be this side of not enough, and since Dean kind of liked this town and appreciated the fact they didn’t have to move for the last two years, he really didn’t want some nosy neighbor being alerted by the noise and getting all into their business for no good reason.

He expected Mr. Wilkinson from across the street, ready to bitch about the music like always, or maybe Mrs. Marshall, because it was Wednesday and she hadn’t dropped off her usual dish of freshly baked cookies for ‘darling Sammy’—who had this habit of helping the old lady carry her groceries that was just so boy scout of him—but when Dean opened the door he found neither of his neighbors standing there and looking at him with murder/glee in their eyes.  

What he saw was the weird guy who approached him in the parking lot the week before, hand still hovering in the air and face twisted in an epic scowl; he recognized him right away, but in the afternoon sun Dean could make out his features more easily than he could in the dark and drunken haze of that night.

The boy’s eyes were blue and icy cold, staring straight and unwavering into Dean’s as the hand slowly came back down to rest on the side of his body; Castiel’s hair — Dean remembered the name, of course; he was not nearly as drunk as he would have liked to pretend and such an unusual name was frankly hard to forget — was still a mess of shocked locks about his face, framing it in boyish carelessness even though he was older than Dean. He was kind of beautiful, Dean thought distantly, if you ignored the massive frown he was sporting.  

“Hello Dean,” Castiel said, and the intensity of his voice belied the calm of his demeanor as he continued, “I have been knocking for five minutes.”

The annoyed set of Castiel’s jaw and the pissy look he was gifting Dean with only made Dean want to push the other boy’s shoulder and bring down the perfect, military stance he was adopting outside on Dean’s porch.

Castiel looked like nothing short of a long-suffering teacher who had been forced to deal with the stupidest kid in school. Just for that, Dean would reconsider his decision and put up with this tutoring class; if Castiel could look at him like he was a plague without knowing anything about him, than Dean could act the part and give him the grief he was expecting, because the asshole sure as hell deserved it.

“Hey dude. I didn’t hear you there, maybe you should just put a bit more strength in your knocks.”

Castiel made an annoyed little sound and just continued to stare at Dean, unmoving and expressionless. He tilted his head a bit to the side, eyes briefly darting away and focusing beyond Dean’s head to take a look inside the apartment, and then Castiel spoke again.

“I’m surprised you remembered our appointment, to be honest with you.”

Dean had forgotten, to be  _completely_ honest, and it was pure coincidence that he was still at home instead of out and about riding around town and listening to the rock radio station in his car, but the way the other boy was looking at him, like he was daring Dean to just admit it and get it over with the farce, pushed him to go along with it and nod his assent defiantly.

“Come inside,” he said curtly. “The sooner we start this, the faster you’ll be free to go.”

Dean left the door open for Castiel to follow as he returned to his living room, surreptitiously looking around to check the state  of his apartment. Castiel didn’t comment on the mess; he didn’t really do anything except look with an interested gaze over the bare walls and the little library made up of Sam’s books, a plant that definitely had seen healthier days and a couple of pictures of the Winchester family. Dean watched him as Castiel took a step forward and started peeking at the titles, humming in interest and nodding to himself.

“Do you enjoy reading, Dean?’’ he asked. There was no surprise in Castiel’s voice, just a keen curiosity as he took a battered copy of Lord of the Flies and started skimming through it. The pages were yellow and old, the book bought for not much more than four dollars when they were still living in a crappy motel room back when moving around was the norm. Dean remembered how happy Sam had been ripping open the little package Dean had made out of newspapers and seeing the book he had been talking about for more than a week. If there was something Dean could do to make Sammy happy, he didn’t really think too much about it and just acted on it, and the way his little brother hugged him after such a small present largely made up for the day day he spent without having lunch in the school cafeteria.

With the geeky grin of his geeky brother in mind Dean nodded at Castiel and smiled a little.

“I do,” he said, because he did. He didn’t have much time but that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy reading in the first place, so he nodded to reinforce the statement. “Those are my brother’s though.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, and Dean was surprised to see him carefully smooth the cover of the book closed and put it back with care among the rest of them. “I’m sorry.”

Dean laughed then, because the way the guy was looking at him, like he made a social mistake Dean could never forgive him for, was just too funny.

“Dude, seriously? What are you even apologizing for?”

“I have brothers, and they don’t like it much when people touch their things. They actually notice if anything is misplaced and then make a habit of giving me grief about it.”

“Sammy’s not like that; you can relax and can look all you want. Most of those books where actually mine before I gave them to him anyway.”

“That’s interesting. Your collection is very…essential.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean grumbled, because yes, it was small, but it wasn’t like he didn’t try his best to find as many books as possible for his brother to read. “We used to move a lot, we didn’t have too much space to spare for books.”

Castiel looked at him straight in the eyes then and furrowed his brow.

“I didn’t mean to imply that it was a poor collection, I’m sorry. On the contrary, actually. It has a little bit of everything, and they are all very good titles. I have many of these too, and if you want I could maybe lend some more to your brother?”

As much as Dean liked the idea of finding new books for Sam without spending too much money on it, and as much as he knew his brother would be happy about it (the kid read so fast Dean suspected he had some kind of superpower he hadn’t confessed to yet), he didn’t really feel comfortable accepting an offer from someone he barely knew. He usually never even talked about his brother with people he’s just met, so he’s already made too much of an exception for this Castiel guy.

“No,” he said, and judging from Castiel’s surprised wide eyes it came out a little bit more forceful than necessary. “I’m sorry, you’re nice and all but no, we don’t need that.”

“Okay,” Castiel said, and he took a step back from the bookcase, walking to the dinner table that also served as desk for Dean and Sam’s homework. “Shall we begin then?”

Dean huffed an annoyed puff of air as he followed the other boy across the room, and he sat heavily on the chair as Castiel started taking his books and notebooks out of his backpack.

“Dude, look,” Dean said, and Castiel stopped what he was doing to glance at him sideways. “I really, really don’t think this is necessary. And most of all, I really, really don’t want to do this.”

“You have to.” Castiel said, and started spreading his stuff on the table, picking red, blue and green pens from his pencil case. “You have no choice.”

Dean bristled at that, because of course he did. There was always another choice and Dean was not one to accept the ones other people made for him.

“I can chose not to do it, it’s as simple as that,” he said, challenging Castiel with his stare.

“Let me rephrase it then: you have no choice if you want to pass the year.” Castiel’s eyes were immovable, his expression completely neutral and disinterested, like this was something he did every day. It occurred to Dean that maybe it was: being a tutor he had to be used to people not giving much of a crap about school or just being incapable of making it on their own.

Dean was more than capable; he just had more important things to think about, among them his dad and his baby brother.

Dean was the son of a barely functioning truck driver, motherless and with a brother that was too smart for his own good. He wasn’t interested in college and he wouldn’t be able to afford it in any case, so there was no use in trying to get the grades for it. Sam on the other hand, he was a genius, and Dean had made a promise to himself that he would do anything he could to help him get an education.

“I don’t care about passing the year.” He was so certain, so sure of his words that the clearly disbelieving expression on Castiel’s face almost made him laugh. Almost, because even he knew there was nothing really funny about him abandoning any chance of pursuing an education.

“You don’t mean that, Dean.” The sincerity in Castiel’s voice was unnerving, as was his earnest gaze as he turned himself in the chair to look straight into Dean’s eyes. There was kindness in there now and that gave Dean pause for a second, because fuck it if Dean needed any sympathy from anyone.

“I do. School doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Dean, you don’t—“

“Look man, you don’t know anything about me and I don’t know anything about you either. You seem like a cool guy but let’s not pretend we’re friends and let’s just get this over with. I have to go pick my brother up at the library in forty-five minutes, so if you want I’m totally cool with us chilling until then. You can tell Chuck you did your duty tomorrow anyway if that’s what you want.”

Castiel’s eyes hardened then, any soft emotion in them disappearing as he picked up his blue pen and started scribbling on a notepad.

“I am not telling Principal Shurley I did something when I clearly didn’t, and I’m not going to let you tell me what to do or not do with my time as a tutor.”

Dean’s mouth hung open for a second at the icy tone of Castiel’s voice and for a moment he almost felt bad for the guy. Pissing him off was funny, but Dean didn’t really want to hurt anybody’s feelings and it seemed to him this guy really believed in what he was doing with this tutoring gig. On the other hand, if that got Castiel off his back Dean was more than okay with it. He didn’t say anything and when Castiel stopped writing he looked up from his notepad and straight at Dean again, eyes full of determination.

“Now, we still have forty-five minutes. I suggest you open your chemistry book and start on these exercises I wrote down for you. I wanted to start with English Literature but there’s not enough time for us to go over a whole chapter, so this will have to do.” Castiel ripped off the page and passed it to Dean without so much as a nod his way and Dean was too taken aback from the guy's sudden change in demeanor to do anything but stare at him with his mouth still hanging open.

He looked down at the sheet of paper and saw a little list of exercises in order by page number. There were five of them, and even without looking at the pages Dean knew they were from one of the chapters he was supposed to have studied for the test his class took three weeks ago. Needless to say he’d failed spectacularly at it, and he still hadn’t let go of the despising look Crowley threw his way when he had handed Dean his paper back, complete with a red, shiny D on the top right corner.

“Dude, I told y—“

“Yes, and I don’t care. I’ll be out of here soon and I want us to at least go over three out of five of those exercises, so get over yourself for a second and get to work.”

And surprisingly enough Dean did just that. He tipped his head forward on Castiel’s chemistry book and cursed lowly under his breath at this guy who had the nerve to talk to him like that, but he started looking for the first page on his list nonetheless.

Dean hated being told what to do by people that didn’t know him, but at the same time he could appreciate someone who was sure enough of himself to give Dean an order.

Castiel was weird. He seemed like a calm, average guy, even curious and gentle in the way he thumbed Sam’s books and avidly skimmed over the titles, but the way his eyes burned as he told Dean how he didn’t really care about what Dean wanted as long as he did his job really got to him.

He had to give it to the guy, yes, but that didn’t mean Dean had to like him for it. Thirty minutes, maybe a bit more, then Castiel would be out of his house and out of his life as far as Dean was concerned. He would go pick Sammy up at the library, come home, cook him dinner and put away the laundry as they waited for Dad to come back that night and then Dean would do his best to avoid this weirdo as long as possible.

 

 

 

  


 

“So...call me if you wanna do this again,” Anna says as she leans up on the balls of her feet to kiss Dean lightly on the mouth. Her tongue traces the seam of his lips, leaving a wet trail and the faint taste of lipstick behind.

He smiles down at her and nods, opening the door to his building.

“Sure,” Dean says, and waves at her as she cocks her head with a small grin, a light flashing in her eyes as she retreats back to her car. Dean wishes — not for the first time tonight — that the Impala wasn’t in the shop for a complete check up.

He closes the door behind her, takes a couple of breaths and as he hears the car move along the road Dean leans heavily against the door, head hanging down. He walks up to his apartment, goes in and locks the door behind him. His eyes fall down to the tickets still lying on the little table by the door, and Dean sighs.

He thinks he might eat something, but that would only be out of boredom as he's not that hungry anyway.

Well, he’s not really anything, to be honest; a series of blank thoughts flashing in his head without any clear meaning the only company he has for the rest of the night.

He enters the kitchen and opens the fridge, grabs a beer. He downs half of it in one go and goes back into the living room passing by Castiel’s bedroom. The door is open and the room is empty, and Dean wonders; Castiel probably went out just after Dean did, but the fact that he’s not home yet is unusual. Dean considers sending him a text, but then decides he doesn’t want to crowd him — especially not after a fight — and goes back into the living room.

The apartment is small, barely big enough for two, but Dean likes it. It has brick walls and old furniture, a little fireplace he's never used and pictures of him and his brother on the bookcases.

There's a picture of his entire family, him and Sammy young and smiling, and next to it is one of just the two of them on Dean's graduation day. In a corner, smaller and discreet, there's a picture of him and Castiel taken not long after, when summer was full blown around them and they smiled like they didn't have a care in the world.

Dean sits on the couch and sighs, trying to reorganize his thoughts, beer already almost empty. He tries to remember if he bought some more, curses himself for not paying attention when he had opened up the fridge and then lays back, exhausted.

The evening had been fun — because he knows how to have fun, _that’s_ what he does best — but it could have been better. He tries not to admit to himself that things would have been better if he had stuck with the original plans he and Castiel had made, but it’s a lost battle and it has the added bonus of bringing his thoughts back to his roommate.

The apartment is silent without the sounds of his friend puttering about in his room; he knows Castiel well enough to know he must probably be hanging out with his brother, maybe squatting at Gabriel’s apartment for the night, so he’s not as much concerned about his absence as irritated. The way they left things earlier in the evening had been strange, a weird kind of tension so thick in the space between them that Dean could have cut through it with a blade.

It’s been more than six months since Cas came to live with him, and five years since they met, and still Dean thinks about Castiel like some kind of mystery he never had a chance to solve. The way Castiel had looked at him earlier, the little nod as he retreated to his room after Dean buzzed Anna into the building had a certain weight to it that had bugged Dean for the whole night.

Dean likes Castiel.

Dean likes Castiel _a lot_.

He is the most important person in Dean’s life that cannot be defined by the word family, but at the same time Dean doesn’t really get the guy; not all the time, at least. They’ve known each other for so long, but still some things about Castiel leave Dean wondering.  

Things between them were not supposed to become this complicated.  

He puffs a breath of air and gulps down what is left of his beer, standing up again and going back to his room. He's drained of all energy, wiped out; his head is killing him and as he drops like a dead weight on his bed the only thing he thinks about is how sweet it would be if he could be asleep by the moment he touches the mattress. He doesn’t need all this; he could happily do without these thoughts and he huffs an exhausted breath out against the pillow as he lands face down on the bed.

All in all it takes him fifteen seconds to fall away in a dreamless slumber and if he was not completely unconscious by now he would be immensely grateful for that.

 

 

 

 

The week went by just like always, days slipping one after the other in a whirlwind of activities in Dean’s usual routine when his dad was away on a truck run.

By the time Wednesday arrived Dean had completely forgot what it was that he was supposed to prepare for his meeting with Castiel, but he supposed that remembering that they had a meeting in the first place was at least a slight improvement in their relationship. Sam was going to have dinner at a friend’s house (a cutie by the name of Jess that Dean highly approved of, especially since she had quick wits and a way with words that left his little brother speechless and blushing in the funniest way) so Dean managed to do the laundry and the dishes in peace while he waited for Castiel to arrive.

He kept the music a little bit lower this time. He was in a good mood having done all that needed to be done before dinner: without having to worry about finding a way for Sam to eat all of his steak with his vegetables (that kid was weird: he really, honestly liked the green stuff) he didn’t want to risk opening the door to a pissed-off Castiel like last time.

As the days passed Dean had thought about the whole situation: Chuck wanted him to have a tutor, and that man could be a stubborn pain in the ass to his students if he wanted. If it meant that Dean could have the principal off his back by agreeing to do this thing then he would just let Chuck have his way for now. He didn’t have much of an intention to collaborate and apply himself yet, but to be honest Castiel seemed harmless enough so far and not even a bad guy at that. Dean would go so far as to say that Castiel had seemed interesting, even, except maybe for the fact that Dean didn’t really  _get_ him.

It was hardly Castiel’s fault if he was weird, right?

And Castiel _was_ weird, of that Dean was sure. He only needed to meet the guy twice, and really he could have said it only after the first time he ever talked to him.

There was just something about him that made Dean want to provoke him one way or the other, even more so than he usually wanted to do to people he didn’t like. Dean got his kicks from exasperating those around him, especially the ones that looked at him with lights in their eyes like they had found a new, shiny charity case to take care of.

Dean couldn’t really pinpoint the way Castiel looked at him though. He sure as hell didn’t want to become his pet project but at the same time he figured as long as he was civil about this and acted normal Castiel would soon understand that Dean had no academic ambition and give up. Eventually, Dean hoped, Castiel would leave him alone.

So when at five o’clock there was a sharp knock on his door Dean heard it right away, muting the music on the stereo and opening the door wide to face a surprised Castiel with his fist still raised in the air.

“What’s up, man?” Dean said grinning, the picture the other boy made entirely too ridiculous to ignore.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said, following Dean’s lead and stepping inside as Dean closed the door behind him. “I see that this time you really  _did_ remember.”

For a second there Dean thought there might be a trace of humor in Castiel’s voice, but if there was it was quickly gone and replaced with his usual, serious blank expression as they went to take their seats at the table. Dean smiled, nodding Castiel’s way as he saw him fishing out books and notepads from his backpack, and said “So was I that obvious last time?”

There was no use in lying; apparently Castiel was really perceptive.

“Yes. I really didn’t point it out right then and there because I figured it would be pointless either way.”

“And you were right,” Dean said, grinning. “I don’t really need to tell you again how I feel about all this, right?”

“No,” Castiel answered, a slight tilt to his head as he looked Dean in the eyes, “and I don’t have to tell you again how much this is irrelevant to me as long as you do what you’re supposed to do.”

Dean had to give it to the guy, Castiel had one hell of a poker face and he sure could get his point across, but as cold as the words were there was something in his voice that made Dean tolerate them.

“Well, then maybe you won’t be happy to know that I don’t even know what it is I’m supposed to do for tomorrow’s English class.” He smiled sweetly, an edge of defiance in his voice that he hoped would give Castiel a moment’s pause before he packed his things and decided that he didn’t want to try any harder.

“Actually, that is not what today’s meeting will be about. I brought you something else to work on.”

Dean didn’t even have the time to look taken askance as Castiel took out a CD case and a book out of his backpack, letting them drop gently on the table in from of him. The book didn’t look familiar to Dean, but the album did ring some bells.

“Dude, what are you doing with an Iron Maiden CD in your bag?’’ Dean rarely let himself be surprised by people, but this was something he really didn’t expect someone like Castiel would conjure out of his hat.

Castiel barely looked up from where he was flipping through the book’s pages, apparently looking for something.

“The other week I could hear the music blaring from inside the apartment while I was waiting for you to come open the door. I recognized it as a song from this band and thought you might be interested to know how they can be useful in relation to English and American Literature.”

Dean’s mouth fell in a open O as he listened to Castiel. That he might have recognized the song he was listening to was weird enough, but the idea that he could go to such lengths as to bring a CD to get Dean interested in a subject he didn’t care for all that much was really something Dean did not expect.

“What—wait. Iron Maiden is important in English Literature?” He really couldn’t help looking at Castiel like he was an alien, but the other boy didn’t seem concerned about it in the least.

“No. But they took inspiration from it for a song, and it might be useful for you to know exactly where it comes from in relation to the readings for your English class this year.”

That said, Castiel apparently found what he was looking for in the book—which turned out to be an anthology of English poetry—and smiled a little as he picked up a notepad and pen and pushed them in Dean’s direction.

“This,” he said as Dean continued to gape at him, trying to make sense of the whole situation, “is ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’ by Coleridge. You might already know the story without even realizing it, but I suggest we take a look at the original together. I am sure you won’t find it hard to follow.”

Dean was dumbstruck by now, his mind racing on the notes of the song of the same title; he didn’t have that particular album, but he knew the song well enough from the hours he spent in the music store’s listening booths.

“Dude…” Dean didn’t really have any words to follow up on that, nor did he have a choice but to take the book when Castiel slid it between them and stood up. He watched Castiel pick up the album case and open it, taking out the CD and walking to Dean’s stereo like he owned the place. He kept staring as Castiel found the song he was looking for and hovered with his finger on the PLAY button.

Dean only had a second to realize he wasn’t bothered by Castiel touching his stuff as much as he should have been seeing how they started off on the wrong foot but then Castiel looked at him and spoke again in a calm, serene tone.

“So, we are going to listen to this song once, then I’m going to read through the entire poem. You will then read it after me. We will analyze the text together, I will answer your questions if you have any and then I will ask you five questions of my own. You will answer them, and if you can’t you’ll work on that for next week and present me the answers in the form of a small essay on our next appointment. I really suggest you pay attention so you can avoid that extra work and we can strike through part of your program in one simple session. What do you think, does it work for you, Dean? ”

Dean nodded mutely and picked up a pen as Castiel pressed the button and walked back to the table.

The first notes of the song filled the air and Dean let his mind wander for a moment, confident that he knew the song well enough to miss part of it. To say that he was surprised by this turn of events was an understatement, and Dean did not take well to surprises. On the one hand, he still couldn’t find it in himself to suddenly get down to business about homework, but on the other hand he could not deny his curiosity about discovering more about the song and the band. If in passing he happened to gain any more knowledge of English Literature and in turn make progress toward improving his academic situation then he guessed it was a win-win with not much effort on his part.

Castiel was a weird guy, but Dean was enough of a man to concede defeat to a well played hand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

****

 

The apartment Castiel shared with his roommate since he started college was fairly big and spacious, not too far from campus and way too respectable looking for a place where students were supposed to be living. Dean didn’t have a lot of experience with student housing, but he’d been to a couple of girls’ dorm rooms before and the contrast was evident.

There wasn’t anything out of place here, the living room shiny and clean, the kitchen perfectly in order without a single dish in the sink. The fridge was always full, there was no music or any noise from the television and it didn’t smell like smoke or pot. It barely looked lived in, even, and if it weren’t for the slightly more cluttered spaces in Castiel’s room Dean would think the apartment was occupied by a couple of elderly people.

It seemed to Dean like a real nice place to live in for all of five seconds when Castiel showed him around the first time, until he met Uriel, the roommate. Dean hadn’t liked him from the get go, and even Castiel ruefully admitted that if the overall convenience of the place hadn’t been so appealing he would have kept looking for something else.

The fact was that Castiel’s roommate had a thing for order, a mild case of obsessive disorder that Dean thought was really quite far from bring defined as ‘mild.' Castiel liked to downplay it, but the way he always followed Dean around to catch his jacket and shoes and basically clean after him whenever he so much had a drink of water spoke volumes about the kind of stress Uriel put on him.

Dean had never really talked to the guy, just crossed him once or twice on his way in and out of Castiel’s room, but he knew from the way the books and CDs were perfectly arranged in alphabetical order, by size _and_ color, that he was someone who didn’t appreciate other people’s intrusions in his life. He was a weird son of a bitch too, someone that looked at Dean like he was dirt on his shoe and talked to him only if strictly necessary.

Castiel had once mentioned that Uriel came from a wealthy, very conservative family and that he wasn’t really keen on mixing with people from outside his social circle. He was majoring in Religious Studies, just like Castiel, but Dean had the impression that the guy took it way too seriously and more from a dogmatic point of view, as opposed to Castiel who was just genuinely interested in the academic study of all aspects of religion.

In Dean’s opinion Uriel was single-handedly sabotaging Castiel’s social life, even if Dean was ready to admit that Castiel didn’t do much to pursue one in the first place. He wasn’t what you’d call a social butterfly to begin with, but Dean had honestly thought that things would change for his friend once he left behind that awkward phase that was high school.

At first the novelty of Castiel having his own place just straight out of school had Dean fantasizing about the late nights playing video games and watching movies, going out to drink with their friends and crashing there on the weekends, but Castiel made it clear his roommate didn’t like to have people staying over, especially loud, hyperactive teenagers.

It was never a real problem, though, Castiel retaining some of his stupid tutor habits with Dean and refusing to encourage him to stay out late on school nights but always joining Dean at his house to spend the weekend with him and Sam. The thought of how excited Dean’s little brother had been every time Castiel spent the night still made Dean smile, and they never really changed habits even when Dean finally moved out of his father’s home to his own apartment when he got a job as head mechanic at Bobby’s garage.

Dean sometimes wondered about the fact that three years after graduation he and his best friend still lived in their hometown, but leaving Sammy and his father behind was never an option for him — he would continue to help provide for them at least until Sam was old enough to go to college on his own — and Castiel had never really made a big deal of wanting out of this place. Dean had always guessed that as long as they could do what they wanted with their lives it didn’t really matter where they were, and Castiel seemed to agree.

When he graduated from high school Dean had tried to convince Castiel to move out of his place and find an apartment together, but his friend had always insisted that he was fine where he was and that their friendship would only have suffered from an eventual co-habitation, what with Dean’s busy social life and Castiel’s much more quiet way of living.

Dean had always wondered about that, about how unusual it was that his friend never seemed to be eager to go out and meet someone like everyone else their age. He didn’t care much — or at all — for dating, and partying wasn’t really something he was into. Dean figured it was just another one of Castiel’s weird quirks. Some kind of freaky spiritual vow he had made, perhaps, or maybe Castiel was just waiting for his wedding night to pop his cherry. He had only asked once, and even then he didn’t push too much.  

So that’s why Dean got his own apartment while he and Castiel kept seeing each other as often as before, and that was good enough for him.

Soon Sam would need to pack his bags and leave to get his own life — the day the little bitch told Dean he was applying to get a full scholarship to Stanford was still branded in his memory — but Dean knew his brother was destined for great things and really couldn’t fault him for wanting to be his own man. He himself didn’t regret moving out, wanting to be on his own and living on his own terms, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t trying to compensate for his independence from his family by having dinner with both his father and Sammy at least twice a week and paying for bills and groceries as often as he could.

John always grumbled about it, muttering that Dean had to get on with his life and start to think about himself, and Dean didn’t know how to even start to explain the guilt he felt at times when he thought about his choice to effectively abandon his family. Sam kept reassuring him that he was old enough to care for himself, and his father always gruffly told him he didn’t need anything but to know Dean was doing fine, but Dean had spent most of his life caring for them and didn’t really know how to stop.

That is why as often as he could he had Sam over at his apartment, and Castiel always seemed to gravitate there both on weekends and after his classes finished, resulting in them reunited around a pizza and an Xbox game until it was time to get Sam home at a decent hour. It was a pleasant routine that in the last couple of years had Castiel in possess of a copy of Dean’s apartment keys and the two of them spending as much of their time there as possible, only passing by Castiel’s place to pick him up or drop him off. On the rare occasions when he spent time there Dean hated Castiel fretting about Uriel’s obsession with tidiness so much that he always ended up not enjoying himself in the least.

Well, that was before they started whatever it was that they had going these days.  

They still preferred to stay at Dean’s most of the time, but once or twice it happened that they just couldn’t be bothered to move once they got started and falling into Castiel’s bed became more a necessity than a conscious choice. It always happened when Uriel was nowhere to be found, usually out for the night at some kind of student meeting or what-the-fuck ever, and Dean always got up and went back home afterwards anyway; it wasn’t like they ever really caused any trouble, but still Dean had the suspicion that Castiel wasn’t a hundred percent comfortable with the idea of fucking Dean’s brains out in his own apartment as opposed to anywhere else.

The fact was, though, that once Dean had Castiel pinning him to the mattress he couldn’t think of anything other than getting each other’s clothes off, much less finding it in himself to care who was in their immediate vicinity.

He should have known that being too greedy would come back to bite him in the ass.

 

 

 

 

****

 

The only time they talked about it was at the end of Dean’s senior year of High School.

Dean had never been overly fond of proms and dances but he had been dating Jo for a couple of weeks already and he could tell that she really wanted to go. He liked her a lot — more than other girls he had dated before at least — and he wanted her to be happy, so he tried to take the idea into consideration. They had been friends since their freshman year and they started dating more out of curiosity than any real feelings between them; they both knew it wasn’t anything serious and Dean could appreciate the fact that Jo was as honest as he was about it.

Still she had been pretty clear: it was their senior prom and Jo wanted to go, and since Dean liked her and wanted her to be happy regardless of the seriousness of their relationship he called his best friend to ask for advice.

Castiel came for dinner, bringing pizza for Dean and Sam, and once they were all fed and Sam went to bed they flopped onto the couch and Dean started explaining the situation.

“Do you want to go, Dean?” Castiel asked, always direct to the point.

“Dude, I don’t even know! I mean, I like Jo. She’s amazing, you know that. But prom? All those idiots from school will be there...” Dean whined.

“Well, that is kind of the point of the whole dance.”

Dean glowered. “I know Cas. I just—I can’t wait for school to be over, really.”

“It’s just a month, Dean, then you’ll be free to leave it all behind and start working for Mr. Singer,” Castiel said encouragingly.

“You know that you can call him Bobby now, right? Anyway, tell me what to do.”

The best part of having Castiel as his best friend was that Dean always had someone to guide him to the most logical solution of a problem...

“You should go.”

...Even if it wasn’t the one he wanted to hear.

“But Cas!”

“Dean...” Castiel started, talking slowly and patiently like Dean was a five-year-old with  attention deficit disorder. “You like Jo, Jo likes you. Now, even if you two agreed that what you have is nothing serious I don’t see why you can’t make a sacrifice to make her happy. She seems like a nice girl.”

“She is,” Dean said, because she was. Nice and funny and a good friend. Much like Cas, really, even if Dean knew nobody could ever compare to him. Castiel was unique.

“Right. You have your answer then.” Castiel smiled at him, and Dean automatically listed in his mind all the reasons why he shouldn’t feel this warm and fuzzy.

Dean nodded, because he had known from the beginning that he would cave; he just needed that little push in the right direction, really. “And you?” he asked.

“Me what?” Castiel asked, taken by surprise.

“What did you do at prom? I don’t even remember us talking about it.”

Castiel thought about it for a second and then answered; “I think I stayed home studying for finals?”

Dean laughed at that, and Castiel smiled. “I wonder why I’m not surprised.”

“I’m not much for dances, either, and I didn’t have a Jo insisting so I guess that decided it for me.” Castiel stretched into the couch, sitting more comfortably.

“What’s up with that, anyway?” Dean asked, falling back into his seat to face his friend. “Why haven’t I ever seen you date?”

The question had been bothering him for some time now. Dean made no secret of all the girls (and boys, occasionally, because Castiel was an open-minded guy and Dean never lied to him) he dated, but Castiel was always kind of silent on the matter. Dean always thought he was just really private about it, and even if a part of him was a bit hurt at the lack of trust, he still respected it.

But now they were on the subject and it was as good an excuse as any to finally ask.

“I don’t date,” Castiel replied, easy as you please like it was not a big deal.

“I know that, Cas, but why?” Dean prodded gently. He didn’t want to pry, but he was genuinely curious. He smiled teasingly at his friend, elbowing Cas softly in the ribs. “Are you like, preserving yourself for someone or what?”

Castiel laughed at that, the sound heartfelt and loud and Dean felt his stomach drop and his insides quiver. It was a beautiful laugh.

“Don’t be idiotic Dean,” Castiel said when he calmed down; his eyes were so bright it looked like he could cry.

Castiel nodded once, firmly, and then got up to put the pizza cartons in the trash. From the kitchen door he threw a brief glance back at Dean and then kept walking as he spoke. “Come on, let’s do the dishes while you tell me what your plans are for this prom.”

Dean shook himself, got up and did just that.

 

 

 

 

****

 

A drunk Dean always had the best ideas, that was the general opinion Dean had on things, but a drunk Cas? That made a good idea even better, and that was why on the day he became legally able to drink as much as he wanted Dean put his best efforts into dragging Castiel out with him to celebrate. It wasn’t easy, Castiel being the one that didn’t touch a beer even at his own twenty-first birthday, but if there was anything his friend seemed to be unable to do it was to say ‘no’ to Dean when he really, really insisted.

So Dean insisted, and insisted, and insisted a little bit more just for the sake of it until they found themselves in a bar and halfway through their fourth round of beer. The place was busy and full of people, the winter air and snow outside the perfect excuse to stay inside and have another drink.

The music came low from one side of the room—an old jukebox Dean had seen on their way to the table—and people moved lazily to the rhythm of a rock ballad Dean couldn’t quite recognize under the noise of chatter in the air. He was only a little bit tipsy, just pleasantly buzzed by the alcohol, and he felt warm all over.

Dean didn’t drink much anymore, not aside from a beer or two on weekends from time to time, but this was a special occasion; he missed the times when he used to hang out with Ash and the others but he had outgrown his fondness for getting drunk pretty quickly after he met Castiel; Dean had realized then that he didn’t need the alcohol to get his mind off things if he had a friend to help him _through_ those same things, and that had been enough.

But it was his birthday, and it _was_ a weekend so Dean finished the bottle and slammed it on the table with a sigh; he felt good and a bit lightheaded but a look at Castiel told him his friend wasn’t even close to that even though his eyes seemed a little bit brighter than normal.

If they wanted to get smashed before dawn then Dean needed to speed up the process a little bit, so he shouted, “We’ll take two rounds of shots!” to the barman, and looked at Castiel directly as he added, “Tequila!”

Castiel’s eyes were wide open, a faint little blush over his cheeks the only hint that he’d been drinking. That, and the way he was all loose-limbed on the bar stool, smiling more than usual and happily bantering away with Dean.

“I’m gonna get you shit-faced tonight, Cas, if it’s the last thing I do,” Dean repeated for what had to be the third time that night, frustrated with Castiel’s tolerance for alcohol. His friend nodded, just like he did every other time, and smiled into his glass.

“I can’t believe we never got drunk together. Seriously, what is wrong with you?” Dean insisted, and Castiel gulped down his beer and looked up at him.

“I can’t believe you got drunk as often as you did when you’re just now reaching the legal age to do so,” he deadpanned, and that made Dean laugh.

“Dude, that is exactly why it’s me, you and no-one else here tonight to celebrate my birthday.”

“How so?” Castiel asked, and he sounded genuinely curious.

Before Dean could answer four little shot glasses full to the brim with tequila appeared before them, and Dean busied himself with licking the back of his palm and sprinkling salt on it. He gestured for Castiel to do the same, and as he did Dean answered.

“This is the time that counts, right? I mean, now that I _can_ drink, I want the first time to be with you.” He didn’t realize how corny a line it was until he felt himself blush under Castiel’s stunned gaze. “I—I mean—“ he stuttered, but Castiel shut him up by downing his tequila shot  _and_ the second one right after like a pro. One after the other he gulped them down, and Dean gaped at him. “Holy shit.”

“You wanted to get drunk?” Cas said, completely ignoring Dean’s embarrassment,  “Then let’s get drunk. Two more rounds here, please!” he shouted the barman’s way, and in that moment more than ever Dean thought he wanted to kiss him.

 

—

 

They went on like that for a couple of hours, until the one row of shot glasses became two rows, then a pyramid and then a  _fallen_ pyramid. Until Dean couldn’t see straight anymore and even Castiel had trouble standing on his own feet. They kept going until it was almost closing time and the waiters started cleaning up the tables, and until they were the last ones standing — or not so standing, in Dean’s case — and the barman insisted they take a cab.

Dean paid for their drinks and unsteadily started to walk outside, Castiel following behind him into the January air. He stumbled once on the way out the door, once on the sidewalk as they approached the taxi and a third time directly over Castiel. Dean snuggled into him, a line of warmth along the side of his body, and he felt his friend’s hands try and catch against his coat as he started to slither to the ground.

Dean felt sluggish and content, heavy-limbed and relaxed. The alcohol seeped through his veins and he wondered for a moment how Castiel could be so solid and unmoving after all the empty shot glasses he had collected; how he could be there, trying to keep Dean upright when all his body wanted to do was pull the ground into some kind of messy hug, and still not waver. Castiel still felt soft under Dean’s hands, and still felt absurdly warm when his arms slipped around Dean’s body to keep him from falling on his ass.

Castiel was like a statue, immobile and still, and Dean wondered for a second what would happen if he just reached with the point of a finger to poke him on the nose. It was the kind of drunken thought that made total sense at the moment, provoking Cas into action with a simple poke of a finger sounding suddenly like a genius idea. Just a little push to the pointy tip of his nose or the middle of his furrowed forehead.

The way Castiel was looking at him, brow crinkled and eyes shining, made Dean want to go for broke and use not one, but all ten fingers on him; soothe the lines of worry over his face, force him to relax the way Dean felt beautifully relaxed.

Yeah, Castiel looked real pretty and Dean’s hands were itching to touch and make a mess out of him.

Gravity apparently disagreed with Dean’s train of thought though, and he felt Castiel’s arms grip him tighter as he slipped further to the icy ground.

“Dean.” Castiel said, a huffed breath that hit Dean square in the face. Hot and bathed in tequila, it made Dean lick his lips and wonder what it’d taste like on his tongue. Once again Dean thought it really unfair that after all these years he didn’t know how Castiel tasted. All the reasons why he shouldn’t think about it seemed to lose their importance now, the logic of his reasoning crumbling under the press of Castiel’s arms around him.

“Uh?“

“Dean, we need to get you home.”

“I’m fine where I am, Cas.” And he really was, beside the uncomfortable pull of his muscles in the strained position he was in and the fact that he was freezing his ass off outside in the middle of a January night. But Castiel was there, wrapped all around him, and in Dean’s unfocused mind that was all he really wanted at the moment.

“I can see the cab approaching. Come on, can you walk?” Castiel was apparently undeterred in his mission to bring Dean back home, and he started to pull him upright on his feet until Dean could kind of attempt to walk towards the yellow cab on his own.

It was not a difficult task per se but Dean kept stumbling and almost faceplanting until Castiel gripped him tight again and hauled him into the backseat of the taxi.

The world from that particular point of view lost much of its interest for Dean, especially since Castiel seemed to take forever to explain their destination to the driver and Dean felt an inexplicable need to just have him near again. It was cold, and he was drunk, and he wanted something familiar by his side.

Castiel was the most familiar thing he ever knew apart from Sammy, and Sammy could not drink yet and Dean would see him the next day anyway to celebrate over dinner; tonight was Cas-night, and the fact that he was not lying on the backseat with him was so unreasonable to Dean he almost felt offended.

“Cas—“ he whined, head rolling back to look at his friend through the car window “—come here!”

He could swear he saw an exasperated frown cross Castiel’s face, but it didn’t really matter because ten seconds later Castiel was there, pushing Dean up and sitting beside him. Which was totally inconsiderate of him to do because he should have known that all Dean wanted in that moment was lie back and stare at the ceiling of the car; so that was Dean’s excuse when he said “Don’t move,” and laid back with his head on Castiel’s lap, and there was nothing really weird about it until Dean started to notice again just how pretty — prettier than usual — Castiel looked from that particular point of view.

So pretty, in fact, that Dean’s hands couldn’t stop themselves from reaching up and touch his face, all the thoughts about poking him left and right resurfacing in the midst of his drunken haze and making it completely okay to start to get touchy-feely with his friend in the back of a cab.

“Dean,” Castiel said when Dean’s fingertips slipped along the side of his nose, tracing his cheekbones and falling along the line of his jaw. “What are you doing, exactly?”

And because Dean was drunk and he assumed Castiel was too, Dean told the truth: “I’m touching you.”

“And I can see that. You should stop though.”

Dean grinned and let his short, blunt nails rake through the five o’clock shadow on Castiel’s skin.

“Naaah,” he said, and kept going.

“Dean, stop,” Castiel said. And Dean was drunk, yes, but at least he could still speak clearly. Castiel had something in his voice that made each word sound strained, like he was trying to keep himself in check or he would hurl all over the leather seats of the car.

Dean looked up at him closely, fingers delving into Castiel’s hair, and felt him tremble slightly as he scraped his scalp to the back of his head. It was cold, and it was January, and even if they had enough alcohol inside their bodies that Dean could feel himself burning up from the inside out it was still freezing.

“Cas—“ he tried to say, but Castiel just gripped Dean’s hands by his wrists and pushed them down to lie beside his body, shaking his head forcefully.

“Dean, stop it.”

So Dean forced himself to stop and closed his eyes, and when he next opened them they were outside his building and it was time to get out and climb the stairs to his apartment.

He thanked god he only lived on the second floor when he managed to fumble the key out of his jeans pockets without so much as falling once. Castiel was still at his side, a steadying hand on the small of his back while Dean tried to open the door as silently as possible; because even in his drunken daze Dean was mindful of not waking up his neighbors—he really was a thoughtful drunk, he mused, and he laughed under his breath at how satisfied that thought made him.

As soon as he was through the door Dean started slumping again with the effort of keeping himself coordinated, and Castiel once again stopped him from colliding with the floor. He took his coat off and helped Dean out of his own, leaving them in a heap by the door.

“All right Dean,” he said as he slipped under Dean’s arm and started walking towards Dean’s room. “Let’s go.”

There were things Dean wanted to say, things like he didn’t really need Castiel to put him to bed, that it was embarrassing, and that he didn’t need his friend’s help to begin with; but they were lies, and Dean didn’t lie when he was drunk. He was, actually, painfully honest under the cover of inebriation so he chose to shut up before his mouth started running away from him and just braced himself for the awkward stroll along the corridor.

When they reached his room and the side of his bed Dean felt Castiel disentangle himself, his fingers gripping Dean’s arm and peeling it off his shoulders. It was such an unacceptable thing to do in Dean’s opinion, that he felt compelled to hold on to Castiel twice as hard, and when his friend gently pushed him back, the back of Dean’s legs thumping against the mattress and finally giving out under his weight, Dean latched onto Castiel’s shoulders and brought him down too.

It was ungraceful and kind of painful when Castiel landed heavily on Dean, legs and arms tangling in an undignified mess until Dean found himself with his friend completely sprawled over his body. Which. Was. Interesting.

“Hey,” Dean said, and even through the tequila flavored fog he was aware of how idiotic his grin must have been. He wrapped his arms around Castiel and pulled him even closer.

Castiel looked at him for a second, a couple of inches between their faces as he struggled halfheartedly to get free of Dean’s hold; his lips moved like he had something to say even though no sound came out. He dropped his head, eyes darting away as he squirmed to find a way to free himself, and Dean smiled even more at the picture his friend made. Even in the darkness of his room Dean could see Castiel’s hair against the background of his walls, dimly lit by the streetlights outside that made a perfect contrast to the shadows of that spiky mess.

The fact that it was probably Dean’s fault, that Dean’s fingers were the ones that messed it up so much back in the cab, made Dean want to reach again, push the hair back and grip it in his fists, and even if it wasn’t the best idea he could ever had at the moment he wasn’t really in a position to hold back.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, and he felt his friend freeze in place, muscles going stiff as Castiel stopped trying to worm his way out of Dean’s grip; eyes wide and mouth open Castiel looked at him, but still he didn’t say a word. Dean couldn’t really stop himself from touching him again then, hands crawling up his back to the nape of his neck, fingers delving through his hair as Dean raised himself a bit and pressed his face inside the crook of Castiel’s shoulder. He just wanted, so _much_.

He took a deep breath, sniffing at his skin. “You smell good,” he said, and Dean felt Castiel shiver against him and along the length of his body.

“Dean—“ he said, small and panicked and not at all enough to make Dean stop.

“Yeah, I know. Awesome idea,” Dean said, and then kissed him.

His kiss was soft and deep, trapping him with his legs and arms and fingers and everything he had, drunk out of his mind and still lucid enough to ask himself why he never took the risk to step across that line before. He knew that deep down he had perfectly good reasons for that, but decided to ignore them for once. He would regret it, come morning, but for the moment kissing Castiel was all he wanted.

He kissed Castiel even when Castiel didn’t kiss back, even when he felt him go lax, unresisting, all through the moment Castiel finally seemed to make up his mind and breathed heavily inside Dean’s mouth before kissing him in return.

And then— then it got better. Because kissing Castiel was awesome, but Castiel kissing Dean back was something else altogether. It was forceful and uncontrolled, needy like all Cas was waiting for was for Dean to take that first step. They kissed and kissed and kissed some more, chest to chest and heart to heart and Dean didn’t think about it, not really, because all he could think about was the way Castiel rocked against him, nestled between his legs. Dean couldn’t think about anything else but how hot he felt inside his own skin and how much this situation could improve if clothes started disappearing.

Castiel’s lips latched to Dean’s collarbone then and Dean groaned, pushing his hips up in an involuntary movement that had Cas push back eagerly, had him panting wet and messy against Dean’s skin as Dean tried to slip a hand between their bodies.

“Wait, let— let me—“ he didn’t even finish the sentence, didn’t even bother trying because as soon as the words slipped out Castiel’s lips latched back onto his own, soft and swollen and biting gently as Dean struggled against the buttons of his jeans. Alcohol and sex-hazed mind made for poor coordination and Dean mumbled in frustration as he planted his feet against the mattress and pushed, rolling both of them and landing on top of Castiel in a move smoother than could be expected. Castiel yelped in surprise underneath and Dean laughed into his mouth, kissed him sweet and tender once and pulled back to look at him. “Just a sec, Cas, I promise you will like this.”

Castiel stared back at him and nodded, like anything Dean could say in that moment he would gladly accept as gospel, and Dean didn’t stop to think about that either. He just grinned bigger and went to work on both their pants, sighing in relief when he freed himself from the constriction of his zipper.

“Yeah,” he said when the last button of Castiel’s jeans popped free, “Yeah, that’s better, huh Cas?”

Castiel nodded, breathed “Yes” against Dean’s lips and moaned deep and dirty as Dean touched him, taking him in hand and starting with a tentative stroke.

It was awkward and it lacked the smoothness Dean usually had when lucid, but still it seemed to be enough as Castiel arched into Dean’s hand and started pumping his hips in time with each stroke. Drops of precome pearled and broke on the head of Castiel’s cock and Dean watched, fascinated, as they coated his palm in slick. He was hard and aching against his boxer briefs, and watching his friend like this, spreading right before him and panting for his touch made Dean hotter by the second.

“Come on,” he panted, and Castiel whimpered as Dean quickened the pace, fastened his grip on Castiel’s flesh. “Come on Cas, I wanna see you.”

And that was it. Castiel swelled and thickened inside Dean’s hand as he came, strings of come landing on his shirt, covering the cotton in filth. Dean looked at him, stared into his heavy lidded eyes as Castiel panted through his orgasm and something clicked. Something beautiful and simple, something that had been there for years and yet never really seen before. He freed himself from his own jeans and fucked roughly into his hand once, twice, three times before he saw white and found his own release, coming hard over Castiel’s stomach and slumping onto his side right after.

They lay there breathing heavily, Dean’s heartbeat in his throat as he came down from his high, still drunk but not as much as he was when they arrived back to the apartment. He closed his eyes and counted to five, then ten and then fifteen, and when he opened them and turned his head Castiel was there with him, bright-eyed and smiling.

Dean smiled too, found it in himself to get up and get rid of the rest of his clothes and went to fetch something to clean them up. When he came back from the bathroom Castiel hadn’t moved an inch, still lying clothed and covered in come on Dean’s bed, and as much as it made for a nice picture Dean laughed quietly and threw a wet towel in his lap.

“Clean yourself up, Cas,” he said, and at the same time took out two pairs of boxers from his drawer and left one on Castiel’s side of the bed.

“Ah—“ It seemed like Dean was drunk and Castiel was the one whose speech was impaired, so when he didn’t elaborate Dean put his underwear on and slipped under the covers of his bed, humming happily as he let himself be enveloped by the warmth.

“Let’s go to sleep. You’re staying, right?”

He felt Castiel nod against his pillow, the mattress underneath them vibrating slightly at the movement. He turned to look at his friend and Castiel was watching him, unreadable as he was most of the time even as a flush burned bright upon his cheeks.

He was the prettiest thing Dean had ever seen.

“I’m happy to stay,” Castiel answered, and Dean smiled lazily and fell asleep.

 

 

 

 

  
 

For Castiel’s nineteenth birthday Dean decided to take him camping.

His dad took him and Sam at least a couple of times a year, and Dean knew his way around the forest out of town well enough. Sam insisted that he wanted to come, but luckily enough John was home for the week and wanted to take Sam to see the game, just the two of them.

He picked Castiel up at the first light of dawn without giving him any details as to their destination, and Dean laughed at his friend’s appearance as soon as he came out of the building: for all of Castiel’s qualities he was not, by any definition of the world, an early bird, and his bleary eyes and messy hair were like a shouting manifesto of his hatred for early morning activities. Dean had to modify his entire jogging routine just so Cas could run with him, foregoing the silent streets of early morning for the evening rush of after work runners. He didn’t mind that much — Cas was a focused runner and he a steady presence, always in step with Dean, but still, the guy was missing out on a whole undiscovered world by not bothering to open his eyes before eight a.m. That, and he was always in a rush to his classes; Dean really wondered sometimes how Castiel managed to be so well-liked by his professors when he was constantly running in at the last minute, often still in the process of becoming caffeinated. It probably helped he was such a genius, as long as the academic world didn’t need him for an early morning literary emergency, that is.   

He smiled at Castiel’s disgruntled frown and passed him a cup of hot coffee as soon as he climbed into the Impala, still yawning and trying to find a comfortable position against the car window. Without a doubt he would fall asleep as soon as Dean got out of the parking space, but it was okay: the surprise would work even better like that.

Castiel took a sip and grunted his thanks, humming contentedly as he settled even lower on the seat.

“Happy birthday, sunshine!” Dean said chirpily. “And a very good morning to you!”

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel replied somewhat sourly, “and my day would have been a bit better if it had started in five hours, just so you know.”

“Come on, Cas! I told you you won’t regret this, don’t start complaining already!” Dean put the car in reverse and started driving out of Castiel’s neighborhood in the direction of the highway.

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to not regret, Dean. You didn’t tell me where we’re going yet.” Castiel’s eyes were a bit more alert after half a cup of coffee, but still not enough to be considered awake by any normal standard. He looked like a puppy startled out of his afternoon nap, and Dean’s smile grew bigger.

“It’s a surprise, you know that! Go to sleep, I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

Castiel mumbled his approval at that and drank the last of his drink before leaving the empty cup by the side of his seat: he arranged his jacket around himself to get even more comfortable and was asleep in minutes.

 

—

 

When they arrived at their destination Dean didn’t wake Castiel up right away. His friend slept like the dead so he took the chance and put up their tent in a record breaking thirty-five minutes. He took the fishing gear from the trunk of the car, arranged the rocks for their campfire and hung the bags of food on the nearest tree.

When everything was finally done Dean went back to the car: Castiel was sleeping with his face pressed into the window, a little shine of drool on his lower lip and his eyeballs moving spasmodically as he dreamed.

Not for the first time Dean found himself thinking that his friend looked unbelievably cute in moments like that, and he welcomed any chance he had to catch Castiel unawares and look at him undisturbed.   

Dean was trying, somewhat unsuccessfully, to understand his attraction to Castiel beyond the distinct pull of friendship; he didn’t want to lose his mind over it, really, but sometimes he wondered if this thing was just a momentary phase or if he was developing a real crush on his best friend. It wasn’t like he never thought a guy was attractive anyway; he even had some kind of experimentation with a couple of boys at school and all...

But Castiel was different.

Castiel was his best friend. He occupied an entire category on his own and Dean valued his friendship way more than a passing attraction and subsequent curiosity.

He wondered what Castiel would think of it, wondered if he should maybe talk to him about it. At the same time, though, he wasn’t dying to ruin their relationship just yet.

Castiel’s eyelids fluttered again and Dean finally shook himself from his thoughts as he walked around the car and climbed into the driver’s seat to try and wake his friend up.

“Cas? Hey, buddy, we’re here,” he murmured, shaking his shoulder gently.

Castiel grunted irritably but his head turned and his eyes opened a bit to look at Dean sleepily.

“Dean?”

Dean resisted the urge to poke him in the forehead, but just barely.

“Yeah, you dork. You fell asleep real good there. Come on, we have a lot of things to do today!”

Castiel yawned and stretched, long limbs trapped inside the car and head thrown back into the movement. “You’re right; here we go!”

As soon as they stepped out of the car Castiel took a look around and realized that they were, in fact, in the forest by the lake and that Dean had already prepared everything for their camping trip. He whipped his head around to look at Dean so fast that Dean was afraid he gave himself whiplash and then Castiel was looking at him with his bright blue eyes wide open and a manic grin on his face.

“You took me camping???” he exclaimed excitedly.

“ Yeah...” Dean answered as he let a hand run through his hair self-consciously. “You mentioned once that you had always wanted to but you never...”

“Dean.” Castiel looked younger than nineteen in that moment; happy like only a little kid could be.

“I know I didn’t even check with you if it was really what you wanted for your birthday but I—”

“Dean,” Castiel said again, interrupting him. His tone was serious now all of a sudden, like, _seriously_ serious; he took a couple step forward until he was less than a foot apart from Dean and looked at him with gratitude in his eyes. “Thank you.”

And then Castiel was hugging him. For the first time ever. A real, bone crushing, snuggly hug that pressed their bodies so close there wasn’t even a slip of air between them.

Dean was so shocked by it he didn’t know how to respond at first; Castiel was wrapped around him, his arms tight and his chin resting on Dean’s shoulder as he squeezed Dean to him.

Overcoming his surprise Dean eventually returned the hug with an awkward arm around Castiel’s own shoulders and he held his friend back for a couple of seconds more.

“Ohhh man, come on!” Dean said as he disentangled them, patting Castiel on the shoulder and walking towards the two fishing rods he had left by the side of the tent; his face burned in embarrassment as he picked one up. “We’re not even started yet! You’ll thank me later when we’re having fish for dinner!”

Castiel grabbed the other one and grinned happily at Dean.

He didn’t say anything more and Dean silently thanked god for a friend who could understand him without even trying, and the two of them picked up the rest of the gear and went to the lake shore to start their day.

 

—

 

They packed the weekend with activities. They passed the mornings fishing and exploring the forest; in the afternoons they swam into the lake and by the evening they curled around the fire and talked before falling asleep under the stars.

Dean discovered that Castiel was a natural in the wild, that he knew how to apply his book smarts in the field when they went to look for fresh berries and that he could recognize different kinds of birds with a surprising amount of accuracy. He showed Dean all the different constellations and even though Dean knew most of them from the nights spent camping with John and Sam, he didn’t know the stories behind their names, the legends that they inspired in ancient people.   

It was the third and last night before they were due to go back and they were lying on the grass under the sky. They were side by side, bellies full of s’mores, sighing contentedly as the fire crackled away.

“Dean?” Castiel murmured on his left, and Dean mmm-ed happily in response. “Thank you. This was the best birthday ever.”

Dean smiled, proud of himself and sincerely pleased. “You’re welcome, Cas.”

Castiel sighed and shifted next to Dean, and Dean felt him take a big breath before he started talking again.

“You are the best friend I could ever wish for, Dean,” he said, and his tone was sweet and serious like he had been thinking this for thousands of years already. “I’m lucky to have you.”

Dean took a breath, his heart beating loudly in his throat at his friend’s words. He understood what Castiel was saying, understood it so well because he felt exactly the same. The amount of trust Castiel was pouring into his words was exactly the same Dean felt for him, and Dean knew in that moment that nothing in his life apart from family would ever be this important to him.

“You’re a dork, Cas,” he answered, but his voice was soft and he was smiling even as he said it. “But yeah, I get it. “

Castiel turned to face him then and Dean let his head turn to look him in the eyes. His friend was staring at him all serious and pensive, eyes big and trusting and Dean couldn’t help thinking again how pretty he was; with the light from the fire dancing on his face Castiel almost looked surreal for a moment.

“I wish we could stay like this forever.”

The seriousness of Castiel’s tone stopped Dean’s train of thought in its tracks. The importance of what he was not-saying weighted on Dean like a ten tons bag of bricks, like there was something hidden behind his words that Dean was not supposed to see, but still he could detect its presence in Castiel’s expression.

“Yeah,” Dean said, and his throat felt dry and his breath sped up as he decided suddenly, irrevocably, that whatever attraction he had for Castiel he wouldn’t let it come between their friendship. Not if he could help it, at least. “Yeah, Cas. Me too.”

 

 

 

 

****

 

When he woke up the next morning Dean was aware of two things: he had a killer hangover and there was the unmistakable smell of bacon and eggs wafting through the air.

He tried to make sense of both things while he buried his head under his pillow, cursing softly under his breath at the morning light seeping through his curtains. He got up, went to the bathroom to relieve himself and brush his teeth quickly yet thoroughly, and then buried himself again under the covers.

He was halfway through remembering that it had been his birthday the day before, and that there had been alcohol, and sex — awesome sex, really — when the door of his room opened to let Castiel in, smiling and ruffled and mostly naked, a tray full of food in his hands.

Dean gaped at him for a second as the exact details of the night before came crashing into his brain; the way he’d all but trapped Castiel between his legs, keeping him within reach as he  _sniffed_ him. How he’d kissed him like he  _meant_ it, how he’d actually put his hand in his best friend’s pants and stroked him into orgasm.

The reality of it left Dean speechless for a second, and he watched Castiel come back to bed, put the tray of food on the bedside table and slide under the covers beside him without so much as uttering a word.

Castiel smiled at him then, soft and warm, his hair such a utter mess that all Dean could think about was how much the well-fucked look suited him. So much so that he couldn’t help himself from saying “Man, Cas—we really should have done that sooner,” as he reached to take a piece of toast from one of the plates on the tray, offering Castiel one half of it.

Dean chewed away pensively, sparing a quick glance at his friend when Castiel said, “You think so?”

It was barely a whisper, almost like Castiel was afraid of talking. He was looking at Dean with big rounded eyes, holding the toast halfway to his mouth and waiting for him to go on.

Dean’s mind went back to the night before and then to all the reasons why sex with Castiel should never have happened. His attraction to Castiel had been a slow burning constant, but Dean knew himself and he knew his friend. He was sure he hadn’t been the only one to appreciate the turn the previous night had taken, and he knew for a fact that Castiel didn’t date. Still he couldn’t deny this was something he wanted.  

“Yeah, Cas” he said around a mouthful of food trying to sound as normal as possible.  “I mean, I can’t believe we never did this before.”

Castiel smiled then, bright and sweet and still sleepy from the night before. “Me neither,” he murmured, and Dean swiftly turned the urge to hug him into a fistbump to Castiel’s shoulder.

“I know!” Dean grinned as he stretched even more along the bed, closing his eyes and moaning in bliss at the gentle pull of his muscles. “Best friends having sex? Best deal ever if you ask me!”

Castiel started to cough loud and violent around a mouthful of food at that, and Dean opened his eyes to find him almost blue in the face from lack of air; he sat right back up on the bed and hurriedly pounded Castiel on his back as he grabbed a glass of orange juice and passed it along to help him calm down.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said when he could breathe properly again, red-faced and eyes shining with the effort, a hand out-stretched to keep Dean from hitting him on the back again. “You... really think so?”

Dean stretched under the covers again, bones popping and little bright stars behind his eyelids as he relaxed into his bed. “Yeah. I mean, we could have had twice as much fun for all the years we’ve known each other. Dude, it was great, I didn’t even think you had it in you. I’ve never seen you interested in sex—I was kind of worried you would die a virgin to be honest—but from what I remember of last night you were awesome.”

“I was—awesome,” Castiel repeated in his trademark monotone. He was staring at Dean like he was trying to understand what he was saying, and Dean huffed a frustrated breath out.

“Don’t go fishing too much for compliments now. What I’m saying is, it was a surprise, but a _good_ surprise at that, and I wouldn’t mind it happening again.”

“You wouldn’t—you wouldn’t  _mind_.”

“Mmm,” Dean mumbled sleepily. “Are you still drunk? Why are you repeating everything I say?”

“Uh…”

The way Castiel was looking at him reminded Dean of the look Sammy had when he was twelve and caught a stomach bug. He had been sick for a week and Dean had spent the best part of it cleaning vomit from the bathroom floor and experimenting with different kinds of chicken soup. Not a very fond memory, no.

“Dude, are you okay? You look like you might puke all over me in a second.”

“I—I think I had too much to drink last night,” Castiel said and looked away. He raked a hand through his hair and got out of bed, looking for his clothes and getting dressed quickly.

“Are you sure? Did I say something? Did I upset you?” Last thing Dean wanted, ever, was to upset Castiel, and he sure as hell didn’t want to scare him off. Dean wasn’t good at relationships, he knew that, but what he was good at was friendship _and_ sex. If there was a way he could get the whole package with Castiel and not fuck everything up then it was worth a try.  

“No,” Castiel answered quickly, still looking for one of his socks, “I just—I think it’s late and I should get home already.”

“It’s not even ten! And you made breakfast!” Dean watched him walk frantically from one corner of the room to the other, Castiel’s eyes studiously avoiding him.

“Yes, yes I did. I’m sorry, I thought—I thought I had the time to stay but I have to go now.” He leaned down to take a look under the bed, a frustrated sound leaving him when he didn’t find what he was looking for. “I can’t believe it, where did it _go_...”

“Cas, you’re not really making much sense at the moment.” Dean sat up a little by the headboard and followed Castiel’s movements closely. It seemed like all of a sudden he couldn’t keep still for more than a couple of seconds.

“I’m just tired,” his friend said as he lifted Dean’s clothes from the floor to check underneath them for his sock. “I didn’t sleep much.”

“I know,” Dean said, and he couldn’t help the leer that followed. “Come on.”

“Come on what, Dean?”

“Come on, come back to bed.” He made a wide gesture with his hand that encompassed said bed and his own mostly naked body.

Castiel stopped, stared at him for a long second and then shook his head, looking down at his feet.

“I don’t think so,” he said, and then resumed his search around the room.

“Why not? It’s not like you have to go to school on a Saturday morning!”

Castiel sighed as he finally found the sock he was looking for and put it on with a frown. “I can’t,” he answered.

“Cas.”

“Dean.”

“Cas,” Dean repeated, serious. He sat up from the mattress, kneeling on it and right in front of his friend now standing by the end of the bed. He stretched his arms and looped his fingers inside the waistband of Castiel’s jeans, pulling him closer. “Was I inappropriate?”

Castiel wasn’t looking at him, his eyes instead roaming the surface of the room, probably checking for any wayward article of clothing that had so far escaped him — his shoes, maybe. “Define inappropriate,” he finally said.

“I just—right, look, let me do this again, okay? What I was trying to say is that last night was awesome, and _you_ are awesome, and _sex_ is awesome. And, if you want, I would really like to do it again sometime, possibly without the same amount of alcohol and with less clothing involved. I’m not stupid, I know what you’re thinking and I can tell you that’s not a problem.”

“You know what I’m thinking? Really?” The skepticism in Castiel’s voice was laced with bitterness but Dean didn’t let it bother him as he went on.

“Yes. I know you’re not interested in dating, Cas, and you know that I don’t want that either. And dude, you _are_ my best friend, sex isn’t gonna change that.”

“Right.”

“Right. I promise. Last thing I want is for that to change, I swear.”

Castiel looked at him then, really looked at him, eyes boring and brow furrowed. Dean stood his ground, willing him to see the truth of his words, that the last thing he ever wanted was for them to change and lose each other.

“Is that really what you want, Dean?”

“Well,” Dean inched closer to Castiel’s body, lips skittering along the bare skin escaping from the collar of his shirt, “It  _would_ be an interesting development in our friendship.”

He felt Castiel give in more than heard him say “All right,” body sagging and shoulders slumping under the weight of Dean’s little kisses up and down his neck. The low thrum of his heart, pulse rising under Dean’s tongue as he licked and sucked and marked Castiel’s skin like he didn’t get the chance the night before, and the way his breath quickened as Dean’s fingers left the waistband of Castiel’s jeans and slipped under the hem of his shirt, warm and teasing.

“All right,” Dean agreed, the words falling into Castiel’s mouth as Dean kissed him.

 _Awesome idea indeed._

 

 

 

 

  
 

_This_ , this was awesome.

Every time Dean had doubted his decision or had concerns about the outcome of his and Castiel’s new arrangement all he had to do was think about _this_. About the press of Castiel’s body against his, the warmth of his breath against Dean’s skin, and everything would be forgotten.

Even Uriel.

Mostly, Uriel.

This thing that they had going was just so powerful, so incredible that any other thought was completely obliterated from Dean’s brain, and if Dean was someone who considered where his dick led him he would have paused by now and asked himself some important questions. Like what it really meant, or why didn’t he act on this sooner.

Why, in the name of all that was holy, hadn’t Dean let himself think that having regular, no-strings-attached and absolutely mind-blowing sex with his best friend wasn’t something worth exploring in all the years they had known each other?

They had been doing this for a couple of months already and the more time passed, the more Dean thought he should have gone for it before.  

He never had a lack of sex in his life, that was true, but high school girls always seemed to want something more of him, never really understanding that he was no one’s prince charming in disguise, and he always found himself fucking them once or twice before he had to put some distance between their expectations and the reality of things. He tried to be clear from the get go, and they smiled and nodded like they understood but they inevitably ended up too clingy and wanted some sort of dating stability that Dean just couldn’t give them.

He thought things would change once he got out of high school, but either he had some kind of awesome personality or just a magic dick because the problem was still there. A third option, one that he wasn’t really too willing to dwell on, was that he didn’t really want to risk giving them the chance to get to know him, and so he kept on bailing on them time after time, making up excuses and generally fucking off right after, well, the fucking itself.

With Castiel, it was something else altogether. Castiel was his best friend. Castiel knew him already better than anybody else, and falling into this _t hing_ had felt like some kind of normal evolution in their relationship. Granted, Dean was fucking drunk when it first happened but that didn’t stop it from happening again and again.

And again.

Like right now, tangled as they were on Castiel’s bed, Castiel’s weight a gentle pressure over the whole length of Dean’s body. He couldn’t care less if an earthquake shook the whole house to the ground, and he had to make a conscious effort to keep from groaning in frustration when Castiel let go of that sweet, tender spot on his neck that he had been enthusiastically suckling on until two seconds before.

“Dean,” Castiel muttered in the dampness of Dean’s skin, his lips tracing the line of Dean’s neck as they moved around his name in a tickling whisper. Dean’s hand moved slowly from the space on Castiel’s lower back where it had clutched his shirt, sliding up the perfect curve of his spine until he could tangle it in Castiel’s wild hair. He didn’t want to talk and he really, really didn’t want to stop, knowing what Castiel was about to say.

He pulled Castiel’s head back by the hair, a sharp tug that would hurt a lesser man but that only dragged a hiss of pleasure from Castiel’s lips that went straight to Dean’s cock. He rolled his hips, opening his legs a bit wider to let Castiel fall even more between them as Dean caught his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down. Castiel pushed back into Dean’s body, hard pressure warm and branding through the layers of their jeans, and Dean felt him hesitate, socked feet looking for purchase at the end of the bed.

“Dean,” Castiel groaned again, and Dean bit down a tiny bit harder, arm caging Castiel against his body even more, trapping him at the same time with his knees and making it impossible for Castiel to get away. Dean didn’t even deign to answer, licking his way into Castiel’s mouth and nipping at his lips as he tried to distract him away from anything he might want to say.

He knew what the problem was and he knew well enough that he didn’t want to hear about it.

Uriel was a dick. A giant, obnoxious, obsessed prick who hadn’t even bothered to say hello when Dean and Cas walked past him on their way in earlier on. He was at home tonight, inside his room studying for some test he had in the morning, and he could have been in the living room for all Dean cared. Castiel had a different opinion about it, though, and if Dean wasn’t in the mood to get fucked into the mattress right about now he could have tried to argue with him about finding another place to go to; fuck the cheap rent and campus proximity, he would have helped Castiel look for a new place himself as long as they could just stop having to walk on eggshells around that idiot.

As it was, Castiel was one strong son of a bitch when he put his mind to it, and with a disappointed grunt Dean was forced to let him go when Castiel pulled his mouth away and pushed himself off on his elbows to glare down at Dean. He looked ridiculous and kind of adorable with spiked hair and a swollen mouth, and Dean’s hips pushed up involuntarily at the sight.

“Dean, we can’t,” Castiel said, eyes wild and pupils so dilated he looked like he was making one hell of an effort to keep himself from jumping Dean all over again.

“Oh fuck Cas, why not?” Dean hated the way it sounded like a whine, but he was hard, and aching, and  _hard_ , for Christ’s sake.

“You know why!”

“I don’t give a fuck about Uriel, Cas! It’s not like we’re humping each other right in front of him!”

“Let’s go to your apartment,” but even as he said it Castiel had a little frustrated frown that spoke volumes about his actual will to move and drive all the way to Dean’s place.

“Cas, don’t be an idiot.”

“I’m not being an idiot, I’m being—“

“You’re being a bitch, that’s what you’re being.”

Castiel growled and Dean was sure that no matter how long this thing between them lasted he would never, ever not find that sound hot. It was like Castiel’s voice was directly linked to his dick, and he felt himself pulse a little drop of precome in his underwear.

He really, really needed to get off, and damn Uriel for getting in the way of that.

“Stop being an animal, Dean. Can’t you just control yourself for once?”

“Dude, how can you not notice the way you’re still grinding against my cock even when you say that?”

That shut Castiel up for a second, and Dean couldn’t help but grin at the way his friend was blushing and his hips stopped the sweet, insistent movement they were unconsciously doing against Dean’s body.

“I don’t want him to hear us.”

“He won’t.” Castiel looked at him skeptically, raising an eyebrow and saying nothing. “Okay, I  _can_ be silent, you know.”

“Dean.”

“I can!”

“You swear like sailor when we—when we do it.” The fact that Castiel still got all flustered about saying what Dean would describe as ‘enthusiastically fuck like rabbits’ added another layer of amusement to the conversation, and Dean raked the blunt edge of his fingers through Castiel’s scalp and down to his neck, gripping him tightly and lowering his head to meet him in a chaste kiss.

“That’s because I love it when you fuck me. It’s your own damn fault.”

Castiel huffed out a disbelieving breath and looked away, an exasperated roll of his eyes adding a new layer to his frustration.

“Come on,” Dean said, kissing him softly under his jaw, licking a sweet line along the extent of it as he wiggled his hips invitingly, “put on some music if that’s the problem.”

“That’s not—“ Castiel didn’t even finish the sentence, a look Dean would classify as reluctant fondness for an insistent, stubborn child crossing his features for a second.

“Cas…” Dean kept on kissing him, lips brushing against lips almost tenderly, knowing that his friend’s determination was about to crumble. “…Come on. We can make it quick; it’s not like we never did before. I’ll be out of your hair in no time.” Dean’s hands followed the curve of Castiel’s tense back down to his ass, squeezing the tight muscle as he dipped down to nuzzle against Castiel’s collarbone.

“Dean…” Castiel moaned, and his hips stuttered forward, pinning Dean further into the mattress as Castiel started to slowly rut against him again, the long, hard line of him pushing against Dean in a languorous move, slow and sticky like molasses.

“Yeah,” Dean crooned, and licked into Castiel’s lips again, sucking eagerly at his tongue.

It really was too simple sometimes for him to have his way when it came to Castiel, the other man never seeming to be able to refuse Dean anything. He briefly thought back to the night of his twenty-first birthday and how it had ended, and he congratulated himself and his powers of persuasion.

Castiel sighed into Dean’s mouth, thoughts of Uriel apparently forgotten as he sucked Dean’s bottom lip in between his own lips and bit a little on this side of too hard. Dean’s hips jumped up at the sharp shock of pain; the fact that Castiel—quiet and rigorous Castiel—was so much more forceful and commanding once they were in bed always spiked his excitement.

“Fine,” Castiel said finally, deep and soft, apparently recognizing his inability to refuse Dean and make it stick. Dean smiled against his mouth in triumph. “Turn around, Dean. Lose the clothes.”

So Dean was someone who enjoyed sex. He enjoyed sex very much indeed, in whatever form it came to him and without any preconceived limitations. He was lucky enough to like it both ways, and he was enough of a man to admit that as long as he had his fun he didn’t care about what he ended up doing. He’d fucked girls rough and took his time with other boys when he had the occasion, exploration of another’s body half the fun of the act itself, but he was equally content to let Castiel take the wheel when it came to this and he never had a reason to complain about it.

Castiel seemed much more at ease like this, spreading Dean open underneath him as he slowly took him apart, working up to fuck him stupid until coherent thought abandoned Dean altogether. It was nothing like he expected, that first drunken night full of fumbling and dizzy laughter leading up to some of the best sex Dean had ever had. Dean suspected Castiel didn’t have much experience prior to their first time, but he never seemed to want to talk about it and Dean was happy to let Castiel take his time and practice on Dean’s body for as long as he needed.

He took to it like a pro. Actually, it seemed to Dean that Castiel’s life mission these days was to melt Dean’s brain through his dick.

 _Yeah_ , Dean thought as he shucked his jeans and t-shirt, as he laid on his belly with his legs spread wide to welcome Castiel’s body. Sex with your best friend gave you a freedom nothing else could, and Dean wasn’t surprised he found it as awesome as he did.

Castiel’s hands started trailing down his back, tips of his fingers painting roads along his skin as he traced the line of Dean’s spine; they bumped across each vertebrae, down and up and down again as if Castiel kept trying to keep count only to lose himself into the motions.

“Cas,” Dean whispered. “Come on.”

He heard Castiel’s little muffled laugh, the bed dipping on the side as he reached to get a condom and lube from the nightstand, and Dean unconsciously arched up towards him, ass in the air as his dick started dripping wetly on the comforter at the thought of Castiel inside him.

“Hush, Dean. If we’re doing this you need to shut up.”

Dean gasped as he felt the cold tip of Castiel’s finger slide down the crack of his ass, shuddered as it breached him without his body putting up a fight; he felt himself open up and welcome it, Castiel’s thumb caressing him just behind the heavy weight of his balls as he relaxed around the intrusion and allowed a second finger.

“Fuck,” he moaned, and he barely caught himself, biting down into the pillow as Castiel’s other hand made a perfect, tight tunnel around the swollen flesh of Dean’s cock; he stroked him once, twice and a third time, enough to leave Dean breathless as he fucked himself into Castiel’s hand, taking a third finger slow and easy. “Come on—“ His breath was dampening  the fabric of the pillowcase, a wet little imprint of his mouth where he was panting into it. “—now, Cas.”

He heard his friend hum his consent as well as the rip of foil as he took the condom out, and Dean shuddered at the mental image of Castiel slipping it over his cock one-handed as he kept leisurely finger-fucking Dean into oblivion.

“Be quiet, Dean,” Castiel said again, and Dean whimpered as he felt himself go empty, the absence of Castiel’s fingers leaving him squirming to be filled again. He pushed his hips into the mattress, his cock painting a trail of precome as it slipped against the sheets, and he pressed his face deeper into the pillow as he felt Castiel draping himself along the length of his naked body and fuck—Castiel was still completely clothed. His cock was the only part of him out in the open as it nudged against Dean, pushing and sliding between the cheeks of his ass in one perfect, slick motion. Dean pushed back, the blunt, full head of Castiel’s cock catching barely behind his balls as he felt Castiel take himself in hand and prepare to thrust in.

Dean loved this moment, the instant when Castiel found his place inside Dean’s body and just drove in. It was a moment of complicity, Castiel’s hand coming up to tangle into Dean’s hair and pull his head back, hissing into his ear as he slipped inside inch by inch.

Castiel fucked him rough, raw and powerful, his hips pumping in a merciless rhythm as Dean rocked back, helpless and joyous, getting off as much on Castiel’s cock filling him so perfectly as he did on the idea that his friend just took him, biting on the back on his neck and stifling Dean’s moans with his other hand.

Dean opened his legs further, letting Castiel accommodate himself more comfortably between them, the heavy weight on Dean’s body as Castiel only used his grip on Dean’s head for leverage as he kept on with the unforgiving thrusts of his hips; the fabric of Castiel’s jeans rough against Dean’s ass, the teeth of his zipper slapping against Dean’s skin, chafing him. Dean wanted to cry out with how delicious it all felt, every brush of Castiel’s cock against his prostate a stab of pleasure deep into his stomach, and he was glad for Castiel’s hand over his mouth, for his fingers dipping behind the wetness of Dean’s lips as he groaned into Dean’s shoulder.

“Dean—“ Cas moaned, deep and raw into his skin and all Dean wanted was for Castiel to dip his head lower over his shoulder, into his vision where Dean could see him, really see him in this moment. But one thing Castiel never did was let his guard completely down, especially when it came to sex.

Dean had seen him give fractions of his façade up, little cracks in the walls he built around himself opened by Dean’s stubbornness and friendship, but he never saw it all. He thought he caught a glimpse of Castiel’s true self, unguarded and unsuspecting, the night of his last birthday. But they were drunk and Dean didn’t really think straight when he was drunk so—so yeah, Castiel was like that. He gave and gave and gave, showing Dean glimpses of the secrets behind the chipped armor he kept on wearing, but he never really shed his outer shell.

And it was okay, really. Dean didn’t need that; he didn’t even want it, actually. The intimacy of it all would be too much, blending and bleeding into the sex and ruining what it was mutually agreed upon as something a little less meaningless than random fucking.

So he kept on pushing back into Castiel’s body, kept on hearing Castiel puff hotly inside the crook of his neck as he gripped Dean tight and bruised his skin, sweat breaking over both of them and coating them in slick as they moved in jarring, spastic motions.

He tried to talk behind the barrier of Castiel’s hand,  _fuck_ and  _Cas_ and  _yeah_ and  _there, God_ dying on his tongue in the vain effort to escape his throat, but Castiel was not giving an inch, holding him and fighting back every sound until Dean felt the pleasure pool deep inside his stomach. He could feel a flush burning on his face like the fire roaring in his lungs, the lack of oxygen as Castiel’s hand clamped on his mouth making his heartbeat speed fast, his head spin out of control.

He felt Castiel vibrate deep against his back, the cotton of his shirt scraping against him as he felt Castiel’s cock swell impossibly inside him; the fingers against his lips slipped, catching at the fullness of Dean’s lower lip as they they lowered to his shoulder.

Castiel slammed his hips against Dean two more times, fattening inside him still more before pulsing hot and plentiful, and Dean could not for the life of him keep silent anymore. Not without Castiel’s hand forcibly shutting him up, not when he could feel himself clench around Castiel’s cock and milk him as he slammed head first into his own orgasm, spilling heavy and untouched in the tight space between his belly and the bed.

A long, drawn out moan fell right out of his throat, following in the wake of Castiel’s trembling whimpers as his friend bit down his shoulder to shut himself up. Castiel was right, Dean could not be quiet even if he tried, and Dean honestly didn’t give a fuck if Uriel heard him as he let a heartfelt, “Jesus Christ, Cas—Fuck” go as the last shakes of pleasure left him.

Dean laughed then, happy and sated in the afterglow, and he could feel Castiel’s lips drawing up in a smirk against his flesh as their heartbeats came down to a slower rhythm.

“Dean…” Castiel whispered, out of breath and exhilarated, and Dean could feel Castiel’s cock softening inside him, the newfound emptiness uncomfortable. Castiel’s hands stroked his sides in soothing motions and he drew away, moaning the loss of Dean’s body at the same time as Dean cursed under his breath as he felt bereft of Castiel’s weight above him.

“…It’s your own fucking fault, Cas,” Dean wheezed out as he relaxed completely into the mattress. He watched Castiel dispose of the condom in one quick motion, throwing it away in the waste basket under his desk, and he smiled as his friend grimaced and attempted to clean himself with a Kleenex. Castiel’s hair was wild, spiked and sweaty, and his cheeks were flushed adorably. He was still clothed, and his shirt was wrinkled and stained by their mingled sweat, little darker spots where Cas cleaned his fingers from the lube. He looked obscene, parted lips and shiny eyes, and Dean caught himself thinking a fucked-out Castiel might be his favorite Castiel yet.

“I knew it. I don’t know why I keep falling for your tricks, really,” but the words were amused, a little smile playing on Castiel’s lips in contrast with his stern gaze.

“Oh, come on Cas. So your roommate got an earful of how good a lay you are, I’m sure he’ll deal with it.” Dean stood up on wobbly legs, wiped himself quickly with another tissue and started dressing again.  

“You don’t know Uriel, Dean. He can be surprisingly spiteful when he wants to be. I don’t think I’m in the mood to deal with him right now.”

“Then don’t! Just stay inside until he’s gone in the morning, and everything will be fine by tomorrow. Don’t be such a pussy.” Castiel huffed out an irritated breath at that, and Dean ducked his head to avoid an unidentified flying object thrown his way. He put on his socks and shoes, picked up his keys and wallet and tried to give himself a general air of decency as he walked to the door of Castiel’s room.

“You’re going?” Castiel was busy stripping the bed of the soiled sheets, completely concentrated on the task at hand and not sparing Dean a glance. Dean was always surprised by how fast his friend could shut down, but he just shrugged it away as another of Castiel’s weird quirks.

“Yup, I told you it would be quick,” he grinned. Castiel looked up at him then, giving Dean an unreadable look as he dropped the sheets on the floor.

“Right,” he said, and looked away.

“Right....” For all his nonchalance, this was always a bit too awkward for Dean’s tastes; the moment they just dismissed what they did and went on with the routine of their life. He almost wanted to ask Castiel if he was okay, if there was something they should talk about, but his friend didn’t look like he was in the mood to share. Dean nodded; “I’ll see you soon, Cas.”

“Yes,” Cas said, and he turned away to walk into his little en-suite bathroom without another word.

Dean stood there for a second longer before straightening up and walking out into the living room, right where Uriel was standing with a disgusted look on his face as he took in Dean’s appearance. Dean just nodded his way and kept going; he tried to ignore him but the way the Uriel was staring at him chilled Dean’s bones and made uneasiness wash over him.

He closed the door behind him and hurried out of the apartment, taking the stairs two at a time as he rushed to his car without sparing much of a thought to any of it. Uriel was a dick, that was a fact, and Dean had to go back home and take a shower before going to pick Sam up for dinner. He didn’t have time to waste on whatever that guy’s problem was.

 

 

 

 

****

 

The first time Castiel stayed for dinner after Dean’s tutoring was, of course, because Sam asked.

Dean’s brother had came back from the library to find the other two boys deep in conversation; Castiel had brought with him a big, leather bound book on American lore, and what should only have been an introduction to Poe and his horror stories became a succession of facts and stories that held Dean’s interest well over the sixty minutes limit of their lesson. When his little brother came in and find them in the middle of a particularly interesting recounting of The Black Cat he introduced himself and sat down next to Dean to listen to Castiel talk.

It took Sam all of thirty minutes to happily ask Castiel to stay for dinner after that, and Dean had to admit he wasn’t particularly bothered by it.

So while his little brother was busy doing his homework in the living room Dean showed Castiel how to do a mean meatloaf from scratch, basking in the novelty of being the one to teach something to his own tutor. They kept discussing urban legends and their role in American literature throughout the meatloaf preparation, and by the time they were sated and happily sitting at the table after dinner, Sam had started participating in the conversation as well as eagerly listening in. From the way he and Castiel talked for what seemed like hours Dean figured out there was some kind of bizarre affinity between his tutor and his brother. They seemed to have a lot of interests in common — comic books and superheroes made more than an appearance in the conversation, as well as Castiel and Sam’s love for historical fiction and fantasy novels —  and Dean found himself glad about it for no other reason than the fact that Sam could hold his own in a discussion with someone two months shy of high-school graduation. Dean felt proud of his little brother and thankful to Castiel for bringing up different topics of discussion for the three of them to enjoy over dinner. Sam was a bright kid and had an even brighter future ahead of him if Dean had any say in it, and watching him talk, jumping from one argument to the next with an ease Dean never possessed, tugged at the pool of feelings labeled ‘Sammy’ that lay deep inside Dean’s heart. The kid wasn’t even tall enough to sit properly, big feet dangling from the chair as he tried to make his point about something or other with Castiel, but he was perfect in Dean’s eyes and he wouldn’t change anything about his little brother even if he was given the chance.

Castiel seemed to be intrigued by Sam and the way his brain worked, and Dean left them to their discussion as he started to tidy up the kitchen. He put the leftovers in the fridge and threw the garbage away. He started washing the dishes after that, and after a minute Castiel joined him to help. Sam was already back to working on his homework again and as Dean washed and Castiel dried they started making small talk again.

It was weird how Dean had become accustomed to the sound of Castiel’s voice, the way the words just slipped out of his mouth and into Dean’s mind with unbelievable ease. The cadence and rhythm, the way that, inside an anecdote, he could find a way to hide a hundred interesting facts that Dean would remember at the most random times; like how Poe married his first cousin when she was just fourteen and sickly ill, and how that was as much a derivative of his obsessions as a cause for further delusions.

Castiel talked and talked, and by the time all was clean and tidy in the kitchen it was time for Sam to go to bed.

“But I don’t want to Dean, it’s only nine!”

“You have school tomorrow. Come on, chop chop!” He started pushing Sam towards his room, and at the same time he glanced back at Castiel, sitting again by the living room table now empty of either books or plates.

“But we have a guest!” Sam whined, and Dean pushed him with a little more force when Sam started to dig his feet into the ground.

“Don’t be a little bitch, Sammy. Say goodbye to Castiel and let’s go.”

Sam huffed a breath but turned to Castiel and smiled his big, toothy grin.

“Bye Castiel, thanks for staying,” he waved, and then he disappeared to their room before Castiel could answer.

Dean followed his brother after a second, a quick “I’ll be right back” to Castiel as he helped Sammy get ready to sleep. He gave him his pajamas, followed him to the bathroom to make sure he brushed his teeth. Dean knew Sam was old enough to go about his routine alone but he still enjoyed be a pain in the ass for his little brother.

“Are you all set?” he asked Sammy, and his brother nodded sleepily, his eyelids already drooping, breath becoming heavier and more relaxed. “Good, then I’m gonna go back out there and let Cas go home. Sleep well, Sam; call me if you need anything.” Sam nodded again, this time with his eyes already closed.

Dean was three steps from the door of their room when Sam called for him, voice hushed and groggy with the faint traces of the beginning of sleep. “I’m happy you have a friend, Dean,” Sam said, and Dean stopped short. The room was dark and silent and Dean just nodded, one hand on the doorknob; he watched his brother’s chest rise and fall as he tried and failed to make sense of the feelings churning in his stomach. A couple of breaths more and Sam was already asleep, saving Dean from having to answer.

When he went back to the living room Castiel was waiting for him, his bag already packed and his jacket hanging from his arm.

“So that is what you do every day, Dean?” he asked, and Dean looked up to find Castiel looking at him, an interested frown on his face.

“What?”

“You take care of your brother, and the house, and everything that goes in between. Is that it?”

“Well…” Dean fidgeted on the spot, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. There was no use denying what was basically the truth, but he did not particularly like to admit that he and his brother were left alone to fend for themselves more than kids their age were supposed to. There was something in the way Castiel was looking at him though that made it a little less hard to explain his situation; there was no judgement in there, just a simple curiosity. “…Yeah.”

“I see. I understand why school isn’t really your main concern,” Castiel nodded. “I still think you should keep working on it, though. You are already making progress with English Lit and if you could pull through to at least have a decent grade in Math or Chemistry you won’t have too many problems with passing the year.”

“Yeah…” Dean agreed halfheartedly, “I’m not sure about that. I know we made some progress on Math and maybe I could score a B on next week’s test, but Chemistry is not my thing and Crowley doesn’t particularly like me.”

“I know, but Mr. Singer already agreed to give you extra credit in shop and put in a good word with Mr. Crowley if needed.” At Dean’s surprised frown Castiel quickly continued. “Yes, I know, he asked about how our tutoring was going when I saw him the other day in school. Mr. Singer seems to like you a lot, and he seems to care about you as well.” Castiel smiled at that, and Dean couldn’t help grinning back a little.

“Bobby is cool; he loves my car,” he said proudly, and Castiel nodded.

“Yes, he mentioned it.” Castiel smiled a little again and started putting on his jacket. “Anyway, I have to go now. Thank you for dinner Dean.”

“Don’t mention it, it was mostly Sammy’s doing. The little brat always gets away with anything he wants.”

“He really seems like a nice kid. I understand why you work so hard for him.”

“He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s great.” Dean was aware he was blushing, but when it came to talking about Sam he didn’t really mind. “I’ll see you next week, then, Cas.”

“Yes, goodnight Dean,” and with that Castiel was out the door and Dean was left with nothing more than putting away the rest of his school stuff. He huffed a little laugh when he saw Castiel had left behind the book on American lore, and he slumped on his couch with it. He took his shoes off, putting his feet on the old coffee table and resumed reading from the place Castiel had bookmarked.

 

 

 

 

****

 

When Dean came back from work in the afternoon he wasn’t surprised to find Castiel sitting on his battered couch with a book on his lap. He was however confused by the amount of stuff his friend had piled around him. A couple of duffel bags and three boxes were lying around his little apartment, and the frown Castiel greeted him with didn’t leave much space for good news.

“Hey Cas,” Dean said as he closed the door behind him, letting his keys fall onto the table next to Castiel’s own set. “What’s up with all this stuff?”

“Uriel threw me out,” Castiel said matter-of-factly, like the fact that his roommate would reveal himself to be even more of a dick wasn’t anything too surprising. Which, Dean thought, fair enough.

“What the fuck?”

“We had a discussion yesterday after you left.” Castiel was being way too calm about the situation, which Dean thought meant he didn’t really want to go into too much details. Dean being Dean though he made a forward motion with his hand to prompt his friend into explaining himself a little better. Castiel huffed out a frustrated breath and continued. “He said he already had his suspicions, but after yesterday he couldn’t understand why I would throw my, and I quote, ‘depraved ways’ in his face. He didn’t feel comfortable sharing his living space with a ‘fag,' as he put it, so he asked me to move out.”

Dean could feel rage start boiling up inside him, his face filling up with heat as he took a good look at Castiel’s dejected stance and the way his hair was all over the place, like the guy had spent the best part of an hour driving his hand through it. “Cas,” he gritted through his teeth, “that little fuck has no right to talk to you like that and he sure as hell has no right to throw you out of that shitty apartment.”

“Dean.” Castiel's voice was soft and tired as he slumped further on the couch, “you may be right about the first part, but that shitty apartment is Uriel’s, and he can do whatever he pleases with it.”

“You don’t have a fucking contract protecting you in these cases?” Dean tried and failed to control his voice, the impulse to leave Castiel there and run to smash Uriel’s skull against his precious living room walls an overwhelming throbbing at the back of his head. “I mean, he can’t just—“

“No contract, that’s why the rent was so cheap. I never thought about insisting, to be honest, because I never thought something like this might happen.”

“I’m gonna kill that bastard.”

“No you’re not.”

“Cas—“ Dean started pacing around the small room, breathing deeply to calm his racing heart, and he could not believe Castiel could just sit there, calmly accepting what must be the most blatant example of raging homophobia the two of them had ever been privy to.

“Dean, please. I don’t want to talk about this or Uriel any more. I actually would be glad to forget he ever existed for now. I never liked him that much, you know that, but I can’t lie and say that that apartment wasn’t convenient.”

“Cas, that dude is an asshole! I’m sure you can report him to the police or something. There must be gay-police somewhere to protect people from getting screwed by this kind of fuckers!”

“I realize Uriel is not as decent a human being as I thought he might be, Dean, but I really don’t want to drag this out any more than necessary.” Castiel took a deep breath, an air of finality to his words, and continued. “If he wants to act like the bigot he is it is not my concern; I hope he will eventually realize we’re living in the 21st Century and not the Middle Ages anymore, or he will die a lonely, miserable death.”

Castiel’s tone, harsher than usual but still dryly amused stopped Dean in his tracks. He turned to look his friend in the eyes again.

“What are you concerned about then?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Castiel asked, and the frustrated frown deepened even more.

“Dude, what’s obvious to me is that you got kicked out by a shitty human being and that you should be pissed off by now, because I sure as hell am. Enough for the both of us, apparently.”

“I need to find another place to live, and soon. I have finals in a few weeks, and I don’t need to lose any more time than necessary.” He slumped even more into himself at that, his back curving over his knees as his head fell into his hands.

Dean didn’t even let him take a breath before he spoke again.

“I thought you bringing all of your stuff over to my place already meant you decided to move in.” Castiel’s head shot up at that, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. He looked like he was ready to have a stroke at the idea of living with Dean, and that made Dean squirm uncomfortably. “I mean, it’s not like you don’t spend half your time here already. I have a spare room, and I know it’s small but you don’t have a lot of stuff anyway and this place is only twenty minutes away from campus by bus. And—“

“No.” Castiel said, sharp and resolute and completely sure of himself. Dean reeled back at that, trying not to feel too hurt about it. Castiel was his best friend, right? And maybe they also had occasional sex on the side but that didn’t mean they weren’t best buddies anymore. And best buddies helped each other, so this was the most logical conclusion.

“I’m not hard to live with,” he said, putting as much conviction in the statement as he was comfortable with. He'd never thought about getting a roommate, but Cas knew him like no one else did except Sam, and that could only work in their favor. Except Castiel didn’t look like he agreed at all if the way he stood up and started walking backwards and away from Dean was anything to go by.

“No, no. Absolutely not. This is not a good idea,” he said, and his eyes started roaming around the room, anywhere but on Dean. “That wouldn’t work. At all. I was just going to ask you if I could stay here until I found a better, permanent solution, that is all. I’m sure I can ask my brother if he knows of someone who needs a roommate, or even if stay with him for a little while but —No. No.”

Dean’s mouth dropped open as he watched Castiel walk back and forth the length of his small living room, shaking his head and seemingly talking to himself. This was starting to look way too much like a minor panic attack for his tastes. Also, Gabriel? He was cool and all, but knowing Castiel he wouldn’t last more than a week living with his brother before trying to kill him in his sleep. The fact that he was even considering it as a better option than living with Dean was ridiculous.

“Cas. Cas, stop.” But Castiel kept walking, kept muttering to himself.

“It wouldn’t work. I can’t live with you. It would be a disaster—“

“Cas,” Dean said a little bit louder, trying to keep the disappointment at hearing Castiel’s words out of his voice.

“It would be insane. It’s a terrible idea. I don’t—“

“ _Cas!_ **”** Dean shouted, and Castiel stopped. He raised his head from where it was staring intently on the ground and looked straight at Dean. “Breathe, Cas, and think about it without hyperventilating. We’ve known each other for what, five, six years? You know everything about me, and I know everything about you, or at least everything I need to know that it could work.”

“But—“ Castiel tried to speak again, but Dean didn’t even let him start.

“Listen to me. You’re my best friend, and it was my fault you got kicked out of your place—yes, even if you didn’t say it outright I’m not stupid. This is the least I can do, and I honestly, honestly think it could work. You’ll have your room, I’ll have mine. We can keep things going as smoothly as they were before; it doesn’t need to be weird or complicated."

“I’m not sure, Dean…” Castiel was starting to look like a cornered animal, and Dean felt uncomfortably like a hunter trying not to spook him.

“Look, if it makes you feel more comfortable we could set up a list of rules? I don’t know, like: rule number one, do not fall asleep in each other’s beds after sex. What do you think? It makes sense, right? We don’t do it now anyway so it wouldn’t change anything. Rule number two, no playing Xbox more than two hours a day. I know how we can get lost in that and I don’t want to lose my job because I forget to show up in time. Rule number three, don’t bring anyone else home if the other is there. Because eww, I don’t really want to hear you have sex with someone else from the other side of the wall. Sorry buddy, but even I have limits. You see where I’m going with this, Cas? Do you?”

Castiel was looking at him by now with such a pained expression that Dean’s resolve faltered. It looked like something really wrong was going on in his best friend’s head, and for the life of him Dean couldn’t understand what it was. He was trying his best to be helpful, here; trying to be accommodating, showing him he was willing to put up with rules to make sure their friendship wouldn’t be ruined by living together, not even if they kept having sex with each other from time to time. It could work. Dean really, really thought it could, but the way Castiel was staring at him now, like he was trying hard to swallow whatever sick feeling he was tasting in his mouth, made Dean’s stomach knot and his heart drop a little. He sighed, then, and that seemed to shake Castiel out of his trance.

“You…you really think it would work, Dean?”

Dean nodded, a little less sure now but already too invested to step back.

“All right. Okay. If you…if that’s what you think then—then I guess we could try.” Castiel nodded forcefully, like he was trying to convince himself of the truth of his statement. It didn’t really look like it was working, but Dean was glad he was at least willing to try.

“Yeah, Cas, trust me.”

“I do trust you, Dean.” And the way he said it, like it was such an obvious truth that it was stupid to even question it, made Dean’s heart get back to his rightful place and his stomach relax again. He felt his enthusiasm return and he grinned, broad and happy.

“It’s gonna be awesome! I can’t wait to tell Sam. He always said we should have been living together from the beginning, even if I think it was just a way for him to be sure to always have you available when he wants to talk nerd.”

Castiel smiled at that, and even though it wasn’t as smooth and relaxed as it could have been it was a little improvement from the horrified expression he had on a few minutes before. Dean walked to him then and patted him on the shoulder; he would have hugged him, even kissed him he was so happy about the idea of them living together, but that wasn’t something they did outside of the bedroom so he just patted him and picked up one of the duffel bags from the floor.

“Come on, Cas," he said as he started in the direction of the smallest room in the apartment, “let me show you your new room.”

 

 

 

 

****

 

The first time Dean really thought he and Castiel were starting to become friends was when he realized the tutoring lessons didn’t bother him any more.

By the time the end of April rolled around Dean’s attitude towards school had improved so much that even Professor Crowley had to give in and admit that he was willing to go easy on Dean if he would just shut his mouth and pass his Chem test. Dean did, and he passed it with a B- because Castiel was awesome and had proposed a cramming plan in the last two weeks: it had resulted in Dean having a major headache but also one more obstacle out of the way of being a Junior.

In the meantime Castiel was busy for his finals, but he could still find the time to hang out with Dean. They started seeing each other every day after school, studying together at Dean’s place and only pausing to go and pick Sam up before coming back and prepare dinner.

John had been surprised at the ease with which Dean had let Castiel into their life, but what he didn’t know was that it hadn’t been easy, per se, but more of a slow, inevitable progression of things. Castiel was weird and strict when it came to school business but he had a big heart and he was a good company for Sam, and Dean liked the way he seemed to hold Castiel’s entire attention when they talked. It hadn’t been a conscious transition but Castiel quickly started filling up the holes in Dean’s life that Dean didn’t even know he had, and they soon became inseparable.

Dean even gave up on his weekly nights of binge drinking without too much of a fuss, opting to see Ash and Andy in more appropriate contexts — a football game from time to time or mostly alcohol free movie nights at Andy’s — and toning down his generally rebellious nature. When graduation time came for Castiel and Dean passed his classes to everyone’s surprise — except, it seemed, Mr. Singer’s and Castiel’s — they celebrated over pizza with bottles of coke and a huge pie, and didn’t even think about smoking pot once.

It was simple and effortless, and Dean didn’t realize how much he’d come to depend on Castiel’s presence by his side until Sam mentioned college.

“Do you know already where Cas is gonna go?” Sam had asked one afternoon as Dean was lounging on the couch reading comics.

“Uh? Where what?”

“College,” Sam had replied. “Do you know where did he apply and where is he going?”

Dean had only stared at Sam for a couple of minutes before shaking his head. He _didn’t know_. He actually had no idea about it and that fact bothered him just as much as thinking about Castiel going away to school did.

Dean had always knew that Sam would go away once he graduated from high school, but for some reason he never made the same assumption about Castiel. In hindsight that was really stupid of him: if there was someone who was made for college more than Dean’s brother it certainly was his best friend.

The realization, sudden as it was, crushed Dean to the ground. Sam was blood and he would always be family, no matter what. As for Castiel, there was nothing like that keeping him tied to Dean and for some reason that seemed both unfair and totally logical.

The prospect of seeing Castiel go on to better things while Dean would inevitably stay behind — first for school, then probably working somewhere in town — was so depressing that in an attempt to protect himself from the disappointment Dean started to avoid his friend.

He started hanging out with Ash again, not drinking as much as he had before but instead talking and trying to ease himself into another friendship. He tried to find a way to preemptively fill the hole Castiel would inevitably leave when he left, and when Ash didn’t seem enough Dean started hooking up with a couple of girls a week. It was summer, short skirts and tan skin were a better distraction than what would happen come September, and Dean started avoiding Castiel’s calls and Sam’s questions more and more.  

By the end of the third week in which he didn’t see Castiel Dean was walking down the aisle of the local video store looking for a movie to watch with Sam when his friend cornered him.

“Hello Dean,” Castiel said, and the way he sounded was so familiar Dean felt his heart constrict inside his chest.

“Hey Cas,” Dean said as he kept walking.

“I haven’t seen you in a long time.” Castiel’s tone was cautions but firm, not unkind or angry.

“Been busy.”

“Right. Sam has been worried about you.”

Dean hurried his pace a little more, glancing hurriedly back at his friend. “Nothing to worry about, he knows that.”

“Dean.”

“Sorry Cas, it’s kind of late and Sammy is home alone.”

“It’s nine o’clock and Sam is fine, I already checked up on him.”

“Well, I still need to go.”

“Dean.”

And that was too much for him; there was only so much Dean could take and the way Castiel said his name always riled him up in the wrong ways. He stopped and turned around abruptly, ending up directly in Castiel’s space. “What, Cas? What?" 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” Castiel’s eyes were level with him, calm and curious. They were not angry, just their usual shade of soft.

“I haven’t been avoiding you.” Dean dropped his eyes in shame. He didn’t like to lie, especially to his friend.

“Yes you have. Don't you think I should know why?”

“Cas—“ Dean groaned, because he couldn’t do this. “I can’t do this.” And he didn’t mean to say _that_ out loud.

" _What_ can’t you do?” Castiel looked so earnest, so concerned that Dean didn’t have it in him to fight it any more. He wanted to lift that weight from his shoulders and his friend was the only one he could ever trust to help him with that. Ironically, that was exactly the source of all his problems at the moment.

“Listen, the last few months? Have been great. I didn’t think we would become as close as we did, and I’m happy it turned out that way. It was great while it lasted.”

“Dean, you’re not making any sense. Why are you talking like we’re not friends anymore?” Castiel was confused, and he sounded sad at the very thought.

“But are we, Cas? Will we still be friends, even when you're off at college?” It was pathetic of Dean to ask, but that question had been sitting heavy on his stomach for weeks now and he wanted to get rid of it.

“Of course we will, Dean. Why would you think any differently?”

“Because, Cas! I know how it works, I’m not stupid! You’ll be halfway across the country. You’ll met new people, have friends as nerdy and smart as you are and maybe even finally start dating once you figure out what it is that you want. You’ll forget about me.”

“Dean. First of all, new friends won’t mean I forget the old ones. You are my best friend, Dean, you know that. And as for dating the _one_ thing I do have figured out is that I don’t want a long line of inconsequential dates just to pass the time and you already know that.” It was lighthearted, almost a joking quip, but still Castiel’s eyes were sharp when he spoke and Dean felt ashamed of the way he had been acting. “But most importantly, Dean, you’re an idiot if you thought I was going to go ‘halfway across the country’ without first telling you, and since I don’t remember having that particular conversation with you I think it’s safe to assume I’ll be attending college here in town.”

“What?” Dean gaped.

“Yes. The local college has a surprisingly good Religious Studies program and I’m not too keen on leaving the place where I was born. I don’t think I’ve ever been the person to leave behind everything he’s always known. If that makes me less ‘cool,'” Castiel actually made  air quotes motions, the dork,  and Dean loved him fiercely in that moment, “then I’m not cool. I don’t really care.”

“Cas, man, are you seriously staying?” Dean was aware he was grinning like an idiot, but Castiel was smiling too, so he didn’t care if that made him look stupid.

“Yes.” Castiel nodded, chest puffed and a proud look on his face. It was hilarious and kind of adorable, like a little kid sticking up for his very first choices.

“Dude,” Dean beamed, and he shook his head disbelievingly. “You’re the coolest person I know, I swear.” And the truth was: Dean was not lying. “Well, except for Sammy, but he’s still too short to really be considered a person so it doesn’t really count.”

Castiel laughed, a full sound that seemed to pop out and break free of its own will. It was too much for such a lame joke and too heartfelt to not take it as pure relief. Dean watched him for a second as he felt the heavy weight inside his stomach seep away; he marveled at the ease with which Castiel had wormed his way into his life, so much so that even the sound of his laugh was enough to make Dean happy. He found he didn’t mind it in the least.

He patted Castiel on the shoulder when started walking again, pulling him from his arm as his friend’s laughter turned into quiet happy giggles. “Come on,” he said through his own smile, “the little bitch has been missing you.”

What he really meant, though, was  _I missed you_ , and Castiel nodded at him like he’d known that all along.

 

 

 

 

  
 

Dean didn’t regret kissing Castiel (or what it led to) for a moment, but sometimes the way his friend acted kind of left him more than perplexed.

Dean wondered at times if the problem was Castiel’s inexperience with sex, or that he was having sex with Dean, specifically. On the one hand Castiel had maybe never learned how to act around the people he had just slept with, since he never dated anyone before Dean, and he didn’t really know how to deal with the whole afterglow thing. On the other hand, though, he seemed to be perfectly comfortable with watching a movie with Dean or sucking Dean’s dick but still not enough to stick around in bed for more than five minutes after they both got off.

Dean didn’t know which option was the more reasonable, but that didn’t change the fact that Castiel was always in a hurry to get back to his apartment or his room or something else entirely right after they had sex. Every single time.

He never had a problem hanging out otherwise, but it seemed like the last thing Castiel wanted in life was pillow talk with Dean which...it didn’t exactly _hurt_ Dean so much as confuse him. Because truth be told even if Dean wasn’t himself a man to usually stick around maybe somewhere inside him he thought things would be different with Castiel. Despite how opposite their characters were they always ended up doing most things together — something Dean couldn’t honestly say of any of his previous companions — and this one big exception bugged Dean way too much.

“Why are you always in such a hurry to go?” he asked Castiel once. It was a couple of weeks after Dean’s birthday and Castiel had just jumped him on the couch while Dean was watching the game. Castiel’s eagerness when it came to sex was as surprising as it was funny, adding up to the things Dean liked too much about him.

“I’m not in a hurry,” Castiel answered even as he buttoned up his jeans. Dean was still semi-naked and sprawled on the couch, still panting and enjoying his post orgasmic haze. “I just have other things to do.”

“Right,” Dean nodded as he turned again to the TV. He felt Castiel’s eyes on him for a while as his friend got completely dressed, but Castiel didn’t say anything more and Dean didn’t push further as he knew Castiel well enough to know he wasn’t going to get more out of him.

He never asked again after. It was stupid of him and he knew it, since this had been his idea to begin with and he was the one that had set the ground rules in the first place. He wasn’t a total hypocrite though; he knew that he couldn’t expect too much from Castiel. Dean’s confusion about where he stood with regard to his own feelings was what had pushed him to be so firm into making this as easygoing as possible, but apparently Castiel was adapting to things a little big better than Dean himself.

Part of Dean was stupidly proud of his friend and his compartmentalization skills while another part was maybe a little bit too jealous of them.

Things became even more weird to Dean after they had to break one of their rules for the first time: sharing Castiel’s bed when Sam slept over for the first time after they became roommates.

With his spare room now occupied Dean had no choice but to leave his own to his brother, and he walked over to Castiel, already in his sleeping clothes without a second thought.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asked him as Dean let himself fall on his bed with a satisfied smile.

“I’m not sleeping on the couch, it’s too small and it hates me,” he  said and snuggled deeper into the mattress for good measure.

Castiel just looked at him from his seat by the desk. “You’re not sleeping here either.”

“Oh come on, Cas,” Dean whined, “I can’t sleep in the same bed with Sam! Have you looked at him lately? He’s huge!”

“I told you he would become taller when he grew up. You didn’t believe me.”

“Now is not the time to be smug about this, Cas,” Dean frowned. “What side of the bed do you sleep on?”

Castiel ignored the question and turned back to his computer. “We have rules,” he added seriously. “We don’t break the rules.”

“No, you’re right. But this is an emergency exception okay? You’re allowed to break rules in emergencies. An emergency is actually the definition of a broken rule,Cas.”

“That is not true and you know it.” But by then Dean could see Castiel had a small smile tugging at corners of his mouth, and he grinned back.

“Yup, but it doesn’t change anything. Come on, which side? I promise I’m not gonna touch you until Sam is gone. The kid doesn’t need me to traumatize him with sex noises again after the Debbie Watson incident back in senior year.”

Castiel rolled his eyes but got up anyway to get ready for bed, swatting Dean’s feet out of the way as he walked to the bathroom.

“I’ll take the right side. And poor Sam, he was afraid of walking behind the school bleachers without announcing himself for weeks afterwards.”

“Serves the little bitch right for following me around like a puppy.” Dean burrowed under the covers and waited for Castiel to join him soon after. “Don’t kick me in your sleep or I’ll kick you back twice as hard.”

In the end Dean needn’t had bothered about kicking because Castiel kept to his side of the bed almost religiously until morning; not moving, not touching, not even breathing more than necessary to not risk falling into the left side occupied by Dean. Of course Dean himself inevitably ended up crawling all over Castiel in his sleep, wrapping his limbs around him like a giant, clingy octopus. Cas didn’t move away, lying stiffly on his back and keeping his own hands well away, but Dean woke up to his friend staring down at him with something too close to panic to be comfortable. Castiel looked like someone who couldn’t wait to be let go and Dean felt so embarrassed by the way his hands had twined in Castiel’s shirt, the way his legs were tangled in Castiel’s, that he scrambled away and off the bed as fast as possible.

They never talked about that particular morning after, and Dean never complained about sleeping on the couch again.   

All in all, he had counted on things being simpler than this, but the more he got into this the more Castiel seemed to push farther away and, of course, the more Dean got scared. 

 

 

 

 

****

 

Dean wakes up in the morning after his date with Anna to the house still empty. He has breakfast in the kitchen, idly checking for traces of Castiel’s presence, but the apartment is empty and silent other than the clicking noise of his spoon against the cereal bowl. He hasn’t seen his friend since the fight the night before and the way the discussion ended between them effectively ruined the rest of Dean’s night out. It is weird, he thinks, how important Castiel’s opinions and mood swings are to him now; much more than they used to be before they decided to live together.

It’s not like he never considered Castiel’s point of view fundamental before, but the weight it bears on him lately is confusing and disconcerting. Dean never thought he could care that much about someone else’s thoughts beside his own or his own brother’s, or that much _more_ about Castiel’s than he already did before. The way their discussion the day before escalated from calm words to barely suppressed rage, to Castiel leaving him in the middle of it when Anna arrived and just fleeing into his room without another word? It’s not like him, not like _them_. They work things through, that’s the usual state of things, and  _usually_ problems get solved without as many words as they used last night. Castiel has this thing where he just _gets_ Dean without him having to explain himself in convoluted sentences and long speeches, and that’s one of the traits that make him Dean’s best friend.

The empty apartment, the lack of Cas — as a whole, not just his friend, not his whatever-he-is, but just _Cas_ **—** depresses Dean this morning like it never had before, so when he finally hears the locks in his door turning Dean jumps out of his chair and goes to meet Castiel in the living room.

“Cas!” he says, and he smiles big and broad, happier than he thought he would be at seeing him.

“Good morning, Dean,” Castiel says, and he smiles a little too even if there’s a sad curl to his mouth. A sad curl that doesn’t compute, because, okay, they might have fought the night before but that doesn’t mean things can’t get back to normal now, right?

“Where have you been all night? Were you at Gabe’s?”

“Yes.”

“You never stay the night there except when Sammy stays here and you feel like you need to give us ‘bonding brother’s time’, which I keep telling you is ridiculous anyway because you know that—“

“I just had things to think about, and my brother’s apartment was as good a place to do that as any other,” Castiel interrupts him, and Dean doesn’t like the way he’s not looking him in the eyes. Castiel always looks him in the eyes when they talk, except when something is really bad.  

“You couldn’t think about _things_ here?” He asks, and hates how petulant it sounds. He doesn’t want to be the child here, but this stings a bit in a way Dean doesn’t fully understand yet.

“I didn’t really feel comfortable thinking about _things_ while you were with Anna in the next room.”

And that, that stops Dean in his tracks for a moment, because why the actual fuck did Castiel think that Dean would even consider bringing Anna back to their place? They do have rules! If anything had happened— and it hadn’t, thank you very much, because Dean doesn’t seem to be able to multitask anymore since this thing with Cas started — Dean would be at least considerate enough to go to her apartment and not have sex just a wall away from the person he has regular sex with. That is assuming Dean wanted to have sex with someone who wasn’t Cas, which isn’t really the case even if Dean is still trying to understand it.

“So what are these things, then?” he says, because he doesn’t really like where this is going, and he doesn’t even get why this is going that way. Castiel is still not looking at him as he walks towards his own room and Dean feels lost inside this moment without actually understanding what is happening.

“I don't think this living arrangement is working anymore,” Castiel says, easy as you please as Dean follows him into the room and watches him unearth a duffel bag from the depths of his closet.

“What?” His hearing is clearly failing him, because he is sure he has been a model roommate until now. He paid extra attention to the toothpaste and always did the dishes and never, ever left anything hanging around in the living room and— “What?”

Castiel raises his head from where he’s digging through his clothes and looks at him, really looks at him, and his eyes are cold as they are blue, frowning like he doesn’t really wish to elaborate more than necessary.

“It is not working for me anymore,” he repeats, and Dean feels like he has been punched in the stomach. Or kicked. Or punched _and_ kicked because it’s been years since he was in a fight and he can’t really remember exactly what kind of blow would hurt that much.

“Why.” It’s not a question by any means, just a word gritted out through clenched teeth and rising from the depths of a pool made of fear and panic that is quickly filling his insides.

“I told you in the beginning that I didn’t think it was a good idea.”

“Yes but—“

“And you didn’t listen to me, so I agreed. But now I don’t think I want to do this anymore, and I don’t think you want to force me into something I don’t feel comfortable about, right?”

“What? No, of course not. But Cas, I don’t see why you would— I mean, it’s been fun living together, hasn’t it? I do the dishes, and since your toothpaste speech I’ve been extra careful about it and—“ Dean is aware he’s scrambling for reasons to prove to Castiel that leaving is not right, is not an option. He knows that he’s probably failing and his arguments could be better than the ones he’s using, but still he keeps on going with the meaningless details because the serious stuff is still too scary. Suddenly this is too much to process. “—I never leave anything hanging around…” It comes out soft, and pitiful, and totally useless if the look on Castiel’s face is anything to go by.

Dean feels his shoulders slump under the realization that Castiel has already made his decision, that the fact that he even lets Dean talk is a courtesy he’s granting him in the name of their friendship. He feels cold, and useless, and it’s like being abandoned and why would this feel more like the end of the world than the end of a simple cohabitation? It doesn’t make sense. Nothing is making sense.

“Dean,” Castiel says, his voice sweet, his eyes sad and his hand outstretched and no. This is not right.

This hurts. It hurts more than he thought possible because he realizes in an uncomfortable moment that he _never_ thought Castiel would leave him. And if he hurts this much then he doesn’t want to stay here and let Castiel see it, let him realize how his heart is clenching around the space Castiel occupies like he doesn’t want to have to give him up. He doesn’t want to be vulnerable, he doesn’t _need_ to be seen breaking, and Castiel is stepping towards him and if Dean doesn’t go first, if he doesn’t _get away_ he will end up making a fool of himself and beg Castiel to stay. And Dean doesn’t want to be that guy.

Dean doesn’t want to have to ask someone to keep their place beside him, to not leave him behind, so what he does is take a step back. What he does is school his expression into a neutral one. What he _does_ , in fact, is say, “Fine.”

He tries to ignore Castiel’s wounded expression, because he has no right to wear it, not when he’s the one packing his shit and walking away, and he turns around to get out of the room before he can change his mind or cry or say something he might regret later.

He locks the door of his own room behind himself and tries not feel like shit, but it’s pointless anyway so he just lies on his bed and tries not to think how this is not just the end of them living together. Castiel hasn’t said it in words, but his actions spoke clear enough that even Dean understands that for whatever reason he’s outgrown the need to be Dean’s friend, Dean’s whatever-he-is, and this is it. This is the end of all ends and he can’t do anything to change things.

Castiel knocks softly at his door about an hour later, and when Dean doesn’t answer he just speaks loud enough to be heard, says, “I’ll be back to collect the rest of my things in a couple of days,” and walks out of the apartment.

Dean doesn’t even know where he’s going to live. Probably at his brother’s but who the fuck knows, really. He tries to convince himself that he doesn’t care, that he wouldn’t even want to know either way, and when he fails he decides that eleven in the morning is as good a time as any to go back to sleep for the rest of the day.

 

 

 

 

****

 

Dean sleeps the rest of the day. He wakes up when it’s almost dark outside, has dinner; he tries to watch some TV and goes to sleep again. He wakes up on Sunday morning feeling groggy and confused; he pads around the apartment hating the silence that keeps him company, cleans up the living room of any lingering mess of Saturday’s dinner and leaves to do his laundry.

A part of him expects Castiel to be back once Dean comes up from the basement, but when he enters the apartment and nothing’s changed Dean changes into a t-shirt and shorts and goes for a run. He runs for four miles until he can’t breathe properly anymore, until each and every breath burns his lungs on its way out and heat bleeds from his skin, making his muscles hurt good. He considers continuing for another mile or two but he’s suddenly struck by the fact that it’s been months since he last ran alone and without Castiel it's is not really the same. He turns around and starts on the way back, and when he climbs his stairs he almost believes his friend will be there waiting for him, reading on the couch like any other Sunday; but Castiel is not there and the apartment is still as silent as Dean had left it.

Sunday evening rolls by and so it’s Monday and it’s time to go to work, which is actually good because it keeps Dean’s mind occupied with cogs and engines and he has less time to think about Castiel; except when it’s lunchtime and Dean realizes he didn’t pack his lunch.

When he was a kid and until he finished school he had packed lunch for Sam — sandwich, apple, cookies and a carton of milk — as well as for himself every single day. He hadn’t minded and even when Sam insisted he had grown up enough to pack his lunch himself Dean had continued on with that tradition. Castiel found out about it eventually over dinner when Sam enthusiastically told the story of how he had shared lunch with a pretty girl named Jess and she had really loved Dean’s special ham sandwiches, and apparently he had taken notes somewhere because as soon as he and Dean started living together Castiel took it upon himself to prepare Dean’s lunch. “You’ve done it all your life for your brother, Dean,” he’d answered Dean’s silent question as he handed him a brown paper bag on that first morning, “now I can do it for you.”

It had become a thing where Dean didn’t have to worry about his lunch any more, and the lack of that routine more than the fact that without a lunch Dean was likely to start seeing red from hunger by six p.m. has Dean feeling suddenly as tired as if he hadn’t slept all night.

It hits Dean suddenly that he was already in a functional, committed relationship without realizing it, and just as well that when he _did_ realize it it scared him so much he chose the coward’s way out and fled before the ship could sink.

Bobby looks at him with sad eyes and a shake of his head and Dean wonders if he knows that something’s wrong. He might well, he realizes, since the old man has been taking care of him one way or another for many years and knows him better than Dean’s willing to admit. If it hadn’t been for Bobby — and Castiel and his tutoring classes, of course — Dean would have been stuck another year in high school; instead he had been given the chance to prove to himself and to the rest of the school he was not as stupid as everyone  thought. To keep him in line Bobby had even gone as far as promising Dean a job if he could finish up high school with decent grades and a good attitude.

Dean had done just that, and now he’s happy with his work and his partnership with Bobby even if he suspects he doesn’t really deserves the faith the old man had put in him to begin with.

He smiles at the memory and he hopes his employer sees it, but it’s brief and not completely heartfelt as Dean tries to leave behind thoughts of high school and Castiel and the tutoring sessions that began as a necessary evil and then evolved into the best part of his week.

Dean shakes himself from all these thoughts and tries to end the day without giving Bobby a reason to fire him other than realizing helping Dean in high school had been a mistake, and when the hour strikes Dean is out of there and into the Impala in ten seconds flat.

He starts the car and goes directly to his apartment, afraid Bobby would try and catch up with him and want to have a talk about his feelings or something. Turns out Bobby is irrelevant when it comes to feelings because as soon as Dean hits the road his mind is back on Castiel and what had happened over the weekend. He thinks about Castiel’s face, his _eyes_ , as he told Dean he could not live with him anymore and still he tries to understand what had changed.

He traces the steps that brought them to this moment, words and actions and everything that happened between them from the moment they tumbled in a mess of limbs onto Dean’s bed that first time to Castiel telling him he would only come back to get the rest of his things.

Dean tries hard to understand how he could ever have thought that having sex with Castiel — having sex with Castiel and filing it in the ‘no-strings attached’ folder — could get anything but complicated and fails, because wherever they stand now it’s nothing like Dean wanted. He didn’t know what he expected, really. He knows now that things couldn’t have lasted the way they were, that something would have changed eventually, but he thought it would have been him finally getting over himself or Castiel just wanting to go back to the way things were. As stupid as it sounds he never really imagined a Castiel-less turn of events, and he realizes now that he should have.

Somewhere along the line things had changed and Dean, however slow on the uptake and generally stupid about his own feelings, now has no choice but to take the weight of the realization that what Castiel is for him is something more than best friend, roommate and fuck-buddy of awesome. He doesn’t really know what exactly Castiel is, but he knows without a doubt that he’s grown into something even more important to Dean than he ever was before.

The fact that Dean chose to go out with Anna the night before their fallout is proof — however ill-timed and unfortunate — of the tumultuous nature of the feelings raging inside him; a poor choice made in the wake of a realization he was not ready for at the time. The realization that, in fact, Dean entered a relationship looking for sex with a person he cared about without the confining rules of a ‘real’ relationship and that he found himself so comfortable in it that the idea of seeing other people on the side wasn’t as appealing as he thought it might be in the beginning.

And so just like that he had decided to go out with a girl he met in a coffee shop to try and fuck the idea of monogamy out of his own system — failing miserably at it, of course — when in fact he had left Castiel hanging with two tickets to a concert Dean himself had wanted to attend; a concert Castiel didn’t care much about but for which he bought tickets just for Dean and that — _that_ had made Dean realize once and for all that he was in too deep. That was the moment, if you need a moment, that stopped him in his tracks and made him reconsider everything. That Castiel had always been there for him and that their arrangement had been convenient and ideal from every point of view except that it wasn’t  _real_ anymore to Dean. Castiel had been willing to indulge Dean, to follow him and be the perfect partner in crime just like he always had been, and the idea that he might want to do it based on friendship and some ill-advised sex-contract Dean had pushed him into had Dean dreading the day when Castiel would realize Dean could want more, and  _that_ had made Dean panic and look for an easy way out. The idea that a day could come when Castiel might want things to change, thus breaking Dean into pieces, had struck a nerve Dean didn’t even know he had.

Hence the fleeing, and the girl, and the tickets blow-up, and the fallout and, inevitably, Dean ending up alone.

It’s a long list of things to feel like shit about, but what really pains Dean more is that he was the one to insist that nothing would ever come in the way of his friendship with Castiel. Not even sex, he’d said. And in hindsight he knows, he _knows_ , it had been a stupid thing to say but what do you know, Dean isn’t exactly known to be the wise one here.

So Dean drives home and thinks about everything that went wrong and inevitably about everything that was good. All the perfect ways in which things were working for him and Castiel that he hadn’t even fully realized at the time. The way Dean’s practicality would help Castiel when he used to lose himself in his theoretical reasoning about dinner, of all things, or when Castiel’s generally zen attitude calmed Dean down whenever he had to deal with idiot customers at work.

Of course it was in the little things, and it doesn’t take Dean much to see how Castiel’s presence is his apartment became as important as in Dean’s life, and Dean can’t even get in and drop the keys on the little side table without being hit by loss at the absence of Castiel’s own keys there. He can’t even go into the kitchen and fix himself dinner — of course now he’s starving — without seeing Castiel’s cereal boxes next to the sliced bread; Castiel’s orange juice in the fridge sitting by Dean’s milk; Castiel’s tea keeping company to Dean’s coffee.

It’s pathetic. Dean feels like he’s in that middle ground that tells him he’s on the verge of seeing something, something that is clear enough behind a light fog of denial but he still can’t bring himself to take that step.

Dean falls asleep trying to make sense of all of it.

 

 

 

 

  
 

Dean comes home on Tuesday after work to find the rest of Castiel’s things gone.

Castiel took away everything from his clothes to the bathroom supplies. The only thing he left behind is a Poe anthology that Dean remembers way too much. It's the one where Dean highlighted a poem when the two of them were still having tutoring lessons, and Castiel had been surprised, then sad, to understand how much Dean identified with with the writer’s loneliness.

Dean doesn’t know why that book is still there; it was probably intentional, like some kind of parting gift, but he refuses to think about it like that. He doesn’t need a parting gift; he doesn’t need fuck all but for his friend to be back and for them to try and repair the broken pieces of their friendship. He’s willing to forget the last few months ever happened if Castiel asks him to, because Dean doesn’t think he can live with a Cas shaped hole in his heart much longer before doing something stupid like driving away across the country for the next ten years.

The book hits the wall before Dean even realizes what he’s done and the sound of it breaking its back in the impact gives him a kind of sick satisfaction. It lands heavily on the floor, the pages crumpled under its weight, and for a moment Dean wishes he had something to punch and kick, something to _hurt_ to relieve the sudden, blinding anger rising in him. He welcomes it, cherishes it as something precious; something other than the hurt, a ball of rage in the pit of his stomach that will disappear soon enough but it’s a welcomed distraction against all the other feelings Dean’s been carrying around these days.

He takes a look around to see if there’s anything else he’s missed, anything Castiel might need to come back to retrieve, but the only other thing is Castiel’s set of keys with a little note attached. “ _Thank you, Dean,_ **”** it says and Dean laughs bitterly because fuck Castiel and his social awkwardness for being unable to write a decent goodbye. Fuck him for leaving without so much as an explanation.

Fuck him for leaving, period.

The keys are left above a stack of last week’s mail, and Dean takes it all to put it back inside his desk drawer so he doesn’t have to see it. In between the letters there are the results — negative — of the STD test he took when he started to think this thing with Castiel could become something more, right before he panicked for that very same reason. It’s ironic, really, that the day he’s sure he can let his whatever-Cas-was fuck him bare into the mattress had to be the day Dean decided he didn’t want to risk getting hurt.

He thinks about it and almost laughs again. It’s not really funny though and trying to make sense of all that he’s feeling only ends up frustrating him even more; it makes him feel more restless than normal, a bundle of energy with no escape route, and after dinner Dean decides to call his brother.

Sammy doesn’t know what he and Cas had been up to or even that Castiel doesn’t live there anymore, but he knows them well enough that he doesn’t need a map to navigate Dean’s shitty mood when he answers his phone and Dean greets him with a “Hey bitch,” more bitter than usual.

“Dean,” Sam sighs. Dean knows his brother so well he knows that Sam senses something’s up one way or another, so he doesn’t bother lying.

“Cas doesn’t live here anymore,” he says, letting the words out without thinking twice about it.

Sam, groans. “What did you do?” And fuck the little bitch for always be supportive, right?

“I didn’t do anything. Why do you automatically assume I did something to him?” It’s not harsh, more curious than anything because by now Dean doesn’t really have it in him to be angry at anyone but himself anyway.

“Because I know you, and I know Cas. For him to move out something huge must have happened, and since I’ve never seen him give you reason to get pissed off it’s only normal that it would be the other way around.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Dean mumbles and then, softer: “How’s Dad?”

“He’s fine, still working at the construction company, still coming home every night and cooking me dinner. Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not changing the subject, I just want to be sure you don’t miss my cooking too much, that’s all.” Dean huffs a tired sound as he lets himself fall on the couch, raises his feet on the armrest and closes his eyes.

“Dean, you’ve been out of the house for more than two years now. I’m used to Dad’s cooking and you know it so cut the crap and tell me what happened so I can give you some good advice.”

Sometimes Dean wonders how from a dead mother, an almost always absent father and a troublemaker bigger brother a kid as well-adjusted as Sam came out. He doesn’t really care to do the math lest he discover something went really wrong and he actually has to sell his soul to keep things that way but he’s really proud of his kid brother nonetheless. Even if he’s an unbelievable pain in the ass most of the time, that is.  

“I don’t know. He left. Just told me he couldn’t do this anymore and left.”

“Hm. Did he say anything else?” Sam’s voice is cautious, soft over the telephone line.

“Nope. You should have seen him, he barely even looked at me.”

“And what did you do to make him want to leave?”

“I didn’t  _do_ anything!” Dean bristles. His eyes pop open and he frowns, feeling the beginnings of a headache in the back of his skull.

“Dean.” He can practically hear the bitch-face over the phone,  _unbelievable_.

“I don’t fucking know, okay? We had a stupid fight the night before and he went to sleep to his brother’s; when he came back he had already made his mind up. He took some stuff and left, said he was gonna come back for the rest in a couple of days.” The way Castiel had talked to him, barely even glancing in his direction except for when he did, and the way his eyes went from cold to terribly sad when Dean refused to let Cas touch him still makes Dean flinch at the memory.

“And what did you fight about?”

“Nothing serious, really. Cas had a couple of tickets for a music gig I wanted to see, and we had decided to go. But then I had to cancel on him because I met a girl in a coffee shop and wanted to take her out. I totally forgot about the concert and I guess Cas didn’t really appreciate being left hanging.”

“Oh, man...” And no, no. Dean can take Sammy when he sounds angry, or exasperated, or frustrated with him but that tone, like he is trying to sympathize with him? No.

“What?” He grits to his teeth, trying to stay calm and not lash out his frustration on his little brother.

“A girl you met in a coffee shop? Really? Was it really necessary for you to do that?”

“What, get laid? Sammy, when you will finally decide to grow up into the man I’m sure you’re destined to be you’ll underst—“

“For the love of god, Dean!” Sam shouts, and Dean shuts up, swallows the rest of his stupid joke. “How long has it been since you’ve had a random hook-up? Come on, answer me.”

“I don’t think this is the stuff you’re supposed to talk about with your seventeen-year-old brother.”

“Dean. I know, okay?”

Dean pauses at that, and for ten uncomfortable seconds he waits for Sammy to go on.

His brother doesn’t.

“What.”

“Dean, neither you or Cas are as subtle as you’d like to think. I know you’re having sex, okay?”

“Wha—? We’re not!” Dean squeaks, and it would be ridiculous if it didn’t sound almost desperate to cover the truth.

“Dean.”

“We—“

“You can try and deny it as long as you want,” Sam calmly replies, ”but I feel like I should tell you there’s no use in that.”

Dean sighs, a frustrated little sound that’s just too tired to sound angry at this point. “And how the fuck would you know that?”

“Oh please, Dean, I have eyes! It’s not like I haven’t seen the way you look at each other, or how you seem to want to jump him every other minute and you don’t just because I’m there. Don’t even let me start on the way he’s always been your only constant since we were kids, or about how—”

Feeling mortified by his little brother is one thing Dean really didn’t need to be, but there’s no use in denial and anyway, he wouldn’t lie to Sam, not really.

“Okay! Okay, fine, stop it! What’s your point then, bitch?”

“My point,  _jerk_ , is that what I think happened is that you saw your  _thing_ with Cas becoming more serious than you expected, panicked and acted like the douche you are.”

“I didn’t—“

“Yes you did.”

“Fine! So maybe I did panic! What’s wrong with that? Things were getting weird and I didn’t want to be the one to end our  _thing_ and explain why I couldn’t keep it going, okay?”

That…that might be the most honest Dean has been over his feelings in a while, at least to someone who’s not himself.

“And why couldn’t you, Dean?” Sam’s voice is even softer now, like he’s trying to cajole the truth out of Dean’s chest without it breaking him open.

“Because.” Dean stubbornly answers. He’s taking little steps towards the truth of it, yes, but he isn’t ready to go there yet, not even for his brother.

“Okay, fine,” Sam huffs in frustration, “keep being emotionally retarded and see if I care. But then don’t be surprised Cas decided to dump your sorry ass!”

And there isn’t really anything Dean can do except nod once and say, “Yeah, Sammy.”

“Dean — look, I’m sorry but you need to get over yourself. I know you care about Cas and you only did what you did because you were scared of it, but Dean— It doesn’t make what you did is any less stupid. I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you this but I love you, man, and I only want you to be happy. If you’re happier with a no-strings-attached arrangement with Cas, then fine, go on, but what I think is that you aren’t and if it’s true, then what does _this_ tell you?”

Dean takes a deep breath and says what has been lurking in the back of his mind until this moment, too afraid to poke at it until now: “It tells me I’m the only one in this, Sammy.”

“What do you mean?” And Sam’s voice is low, encouraging, a little bit sad even.

“I mean that Cas is not into me the way I am into him, that’s what I mean. I’m gonna tell you this once and then die of embarrassment but I know how we ended up like this; I know I was the one to start it all and I know — kind of — why I did it, just as I know that Cas cares enough about me to follow me around in anything. I know what we are for each other and I know Cas. Believe me when I say he followed me into this just because I asked him to, or he wouldn’t ever have taken that step. What does _that_ tell you?”

“Let me get this straight,” Sam says, “you’re telling me that you think Cas agreed to have a sexual relationship with you, his _best friend_ , just out of some misguided sense of loyalty he has for you? Are you serious?”

Dean winces at that, because he knows how fucked up that sounds. But at the same time he knows Castiel, he knows how he works and he knows that he wasn’t a hundred percent sure of what he was doing when he accepted Dean’s idiotic proposition. It was obvious every time Castiel closed up after sex, clear in the lack of physical intimacy when they weren’t busy fucking each other’s brains out.

Their normal routine was so separate from the sex that Dean still manages to be surprised at how they could go from playing video games on the couch to having his mouth wrapped around Castiel’s cock and back again like it was nothing. And he knows how hypocritical it is of him, because this whole fucked up thing was his idea, but there had been times when Dean had wanted to reach out to Castiel, keep him in his bed a little bit longer than the ten minutes it took him to regain his breath and get dressed before going. They never even slept in the same bed except when Sammy stayed over that first time, and when they did there was a strict no-sex policy and Castiel kept to his side with such a stubborn conviction it should have made Dean pause.  

It is confusing and kind of a mess, and Dean has been blind and stupid to think everything was fine when he had actually noticed Castiel’s distance when it came to the sexual part of their friendship. It wasn’t hard to miss. From the way Castiel always ended up topping—which was fine for Dean, liking it both ways, and if Cas had a preference then why not—never letting his guard down for a second unless he was too preoccupied with his orgasm, to how he didn’t even once entertain the concept of pillow talk. Castiel hadn’t been really comfortable with it all, not like Dean was, and yeah, Dean had the reputation and experience of someone who had left behind a long line of one-night stands and Castiel had known it. He had known it and he always accepted Dean as he was, and as much as Dean liked to think that Castiel was as loyal a friend as someone could be the idea of him agreeing to all this just to appease Dean and be a good friend to him makes Dean sick.

“Dean?” Sammy says into the receiver and Dean comes back to himself, feeling like he’s gonna puke all over the floor if he doesn’t calm down a little.

He takes a deep breath and says, “Yeah Sammy, that’s what I’m telling you. Listen, I have to go now okay? I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Dean…okay, sure. I love you, Dean.” And that makes him smile because Sam really is everything Dean isn’t and that shouldn’t feel as good a thought as it does.

“Yeah, me too, bitch. Bye.”

“Bye, jerk.”

He hangs up and takes a deep breath, stretching out over the couch and feeling his bones pop one after another. Behind his closed eyelids little stars shine and stutter in the dark, and Dean relishes the lightheadedness it brings him. He sighs deep and puts the phone back into his pocket.

He takes a look around and then goes to his room, sick again of seeing the apartment half-empty and not in the mood to do anything but lie down.

He has a lot to think about, starting from how blind he has been until now.

 

 

 

 

****

 

The rest of the week passes in a whirl of automatic actions. Dean wakes up, takes a shower, prepares himself to go to work. He passes Castiel’s room on the way to the kitchen, his mood drops even more and he has breakfast scowling into the bowl of milk. His mood doesn’t improve, not talking to Sam and not talking (however briefly and without too many details) to Bobby.

He spends one memorable fifteen minutes on the phone with his father on Thursday, and John awkwardly tries to cheer Dean up a little.

“Son,” his father says after Dean tries and fails to be his usual self on the phone. “I’m sure things will get back to normal soon enough.”

“Uh? What do you mean? Things _are_ normal, dad.”

John huffs on the other line, an exasperated sound that Dean recognizes like the prelude to something his father is about to say that makes him slightly uncomfortable. “Cas will come around. You two have been inseparable for way too long, I’m sure he’ll be back.”

“It’s okay dad, it’s not like I can’t live alone now that he’s not my roommate anymore. I did it before and I can do it again.” Dean never really talked about his relationship with Castiel with his father, not when they were just friends and not when things changed. John’s concern is both appreciated and kind of out of the blue at the same time, and Dean doesn’t know how to take it.

“I know how important he is to you, Dean. You don’t have to act like I wouldn’t understand.” John’s voice is gruff on the phone, tone a little harsh like he’s upset Dean hadn’t shared the details of his thing with Cas with him.

Dean suddenly suspects John has knows what had being going on all along — and in retrospect, why shouldn’t he? Apparently they were obvious enough for his seventeen-year-old brother to put the pieces together — and he’s now trying to show Dean he’s both okay with it, and sorry that it went down the wrong way.

“...Err...Thank you, dad, I guess. Yeah. You’re right, he is important. I just didn’t think I was so obvious that both you and Sam figured it out before I could.” His little effort at honesty is greeted by his father’s easy laugh, and then a couple of moments of silence where they both regain their footing, like this little bonding moment took too much energy out of them. Once they get back on track with something more trivial and less touchy-feely to talk about, John hangs up with a last reassuring word and Dean can breathe again.

Dean appreciates the thought more than he can say, but if he could pass even one evening without thinking/talking about Castiel he’s sure he would feel a little bit better. Realizing you care about someone more than you thought you did sucks, but realizing you’ve been caring long enough to get scared about it and actively sabotage your chances is just a tiny bit worse.

The thing is, when you start looking at things from the right angle the little pieces start to slot into place, and it’s not long before Dean starts to see just how much, how _bad_ he has had it for Castiel without knowing it. He can’t say yet that he’s in love—he can’t because he’s stupid, and being in love is just too scary for him just yet—but he can admit a truth when it stands there, staring him in the face.

Dean’s truth stares at him in the form of a shopping basket in the middle of his weekly food run at the store. It’s Friday and he stands there in the breakfast aisle filling up his cart until he realizes, too late, that half of it is already been filled with Castiel’s favorite things. There are strawberry pop tarts and two packets of green tea, a bottle of orange juice and butter cookies and Dean looks and looks and finds Castiel’s favorite vegetables too, his fucking green apples and even, fuck, even Castiel’s favorite lemon dish soap because he’s always been a stubborn bastard and he’s never let Dean get away with buying the cheap stuff.

Dean stares the truth down long and hard, thinks about the years he’s spent revolving around his father and brother, loving them hard and stubborn like he never loved aanyone else. He thinks about how much of himself he sacrificed to them, having them for his own and being theirs in his devotion until Castiel came along and gave him an excuse to be his own man. Castiel picked him apart from the very first meeting and helped him shape his own road through school and Dean—Dean had never really had a chance.

When he first thought of Castiel as something other than a best friend—when he laid eyes on that expanse of pale skin and all he could think about was dropping to his knees to lick up the curve of Castiel’s back—Dean had dismissed it as Castiel fitting his ‘type.' He now knows the truth of it, has known for long enough, that it’s the other way around. His type fits Castiel like a glove, and the depth of Dean’s denial would be funny if it wasn’t this tragic.

Dean laughs bitterly. He hates his friend in that moment, in that aisle full of mothers doing the family shopping. He hates Castiel for leaving him, and he hates Castiel for sinking so deep inside him Dean can’t even do something as simple as buy toilet paper without suffering a minor heartbreak in the middle of the day.

It was not supposed to be like this, and Dean hates himself most of all for letting things get out of hand. Admittedly he never made a conscious choice, never really fully realized the extent of his feelings before it was too late, but he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t know what it meant when he started thinking about Castiel a little bit too much.

In retrospect, if Dean wes honest, he would also have to say that he’s been thinking about Castiel a little bit too much for years already, but it was too easy to dismiss it as a stupid infatuation and a side effect of their friendship first and then just a direct consequence of great sex later.

He stands there looking at the stack of items mocking him from the cart for minutes, until an old lady approaches him and asks him if he’s okay, if he needs help, and Dean gives her his charming smile—the one old ladies like, the one he’s learned from Sammy—and says, “Yes.”

He goes to pay.

He gets back home, stuffs everything into the kitchen cabinets and doesn’t give himself any time to regret buying Castiel’s things. He likes pop tarts just fine, and orange juice is good for your health and what? Sam is always bugging him to eat more vegetables anyway.

It’s been almost a week of no-Castiel and Dean feels himself suffocating, air in his lungs dry and heavy like lead. He wants to curl into a ball and wallow in his misery, forget about the world and just wake up on Monday when he’ll have to go to work again. He wants that to be a thing—work and sleep, nothing in between—to be a new pattern in his life until he can stand up and breathe again without feeling like he’s losing a piece of himself at every thought of Castiel that fills his mind.

But he knows he can’t. He doesn’t want to be pathetic, doesn’t want to feel as such. He knows, also, that this kind of attitude is exactly what brought him here because really, if he had just allowed himself to be anything but a stubborn, scared sonofabitch things would have been different.

It doesn’t change the fact that he has never been one to wallow in his own self pity though, so Dean makes up his mind and gets ready to go out.

It’s Friday night, almost a week since his best friend decided he was better off without him, and Dean decides it’s time to get a drink.

 

—

 

He ends up in a little pub not too far away from campus, full of people his age celebrating the end of another week of school.

Dean considered going to the bar where he and Castiel celebrated his birthday but thought better of it and just walked the extra ten minutes here. He’s not sentimental, not by a long stretch, but he’s not someone who actively chooses to hurt himself either. Recalling about the exact moment in time he thought  _‘that’s it, I’m gonna kiss you tonight’_ while Castiel drank him under the table would be hurting himself, so that was a big no-no.

The pub is small but full, kids chattering loudly as they play darts, girls laughing as they fold themselves around a pool cue and take a shot. It’s the kind of place Dean likes, the kind of place he feels himself at ease in, where he could strike up a conversation with just about anyone and his natural charm would pave the way for an interesting night without too much of an effort.

He orders a beer to get started and looks around, knowing already that nobody will catch his eye. He’s surprisingly okay with it, the idea of hooking up with someone so far away from his mind he’s actually surprised when a pretty brunette slides against him at the bar and smiles.

“Hey,” she says, and Dean smiles too, because she’s pretty and he’s polite, and there’s really no use in being rude just because he’s heartbroken. “New here?”

And it’s such a corny line, so clichéd Dean rolls his eyes at her good-naturedly. Judging from the grin on the girl’s face she knows exactly what she’s doing, and Dean doesn’t feel too guilty about laughing at her.

“Really? That’s what you’re going for?”

“You’re talking to me, so it’s clearly working, right?” She winks at him.

She smiles big and happy, and Dean likes her. She’s small, black haired with beautiful eyes, and she’s looking at Dean with nothing but curiosity in her face.

 Dean takes a little sip from his drink and speaks. “Actually, I’ve lived here all my life. We must just have missed each other until now.”

“I’m Tessa,” the girl says.

“Hi Tessa, I’m Dean.”

“And what brings you here tonight Dean? It doesn’t seem like you’re enjoying yourself here on your own.” It should sound flirty, but it doesn’t, and Dean appreciates it.

“I don’t know. I just needed to get out of the house.” Dean doesn’t really know why he’s even telling her this, except that she doesn’t seem like she’s coming on to him and he maybe really wants to talk.

“How come?”

“Nothing to do there.”

“And here? Do you have anything to do here?” Tessa’s look sharpens on him, even more curious than before.

“I don’t know. What do you think? A game of darts?”

She smiles again and then Tessa’s gone, leading the way across the pub. Dean grabs his drink and follows her.

They play for hours, and between drinks Tessa talks about her life and Dean tells her about Castiel. He doesn’t stop to think about it, just enjoys the point of view of someone who doesn’t know either him or his friend. It’s kind of refreshing to be this honest without fearing her judgement one way or another.

“So what you’re telling me,” Tessa asks between a shot at darts and a drink, ”is that you’ve been in love with your best friend for what, a couple of years at least? And you only realized it when he left you?”

Dean tries and fails to place the dart on the hundred point mark, missing the bulls-eye completely, and drinks the rest of his fourth beer. If that’s where the conversation is going he needs to have something stronger.

He gestures to the bartender for a shot of rum and lime, downs one after the other and looks up into Tessa’s amused face.

“Yeah?”

“Man, I don’t know you at all but you’re an idiot. And you need to drink more.”

Tessa orders him another shot.

 

—

 

By the end of the night Dean is sprawled over one of the pool tables and Tessa is trying to talk him out of falling asleep in the middle of the pub.

“You need to get home, Dean,” she murmurs, and if Dean wasn’t this drunk he could detect a trace of laughter in her voice.

“Don’t wanna.” He sinks deeper into the green bed. He plays with the eight ball, wondering idly if he can get any answers out of it. “’m fine.”

Tessa smiles and pats him softly on the back. “What you are is _drunk_.”

“I’m not,” Dean drawls with as much dignity as he can muster, and then he passes out.

 

—

 

He wakes up to someone slapping him on the cheek. Hard.

“—The fuck?”

Another slap, and Dean’s eyes open to see an angry face he knows all too well looming above him.

“How much did he drink?” Castiel asks someone, and Dean wants to curl up into his voice and stay there forever before he reminds himself that he should be annoyed at all the slapping.

“A lot. He seemed like he was fine until we started talking about you.”

“Liar—“ Dean mumbles, and he hopes Tessa hears him.

“I need to bring him home. Could you help me get him out of here?”

“Sure,” Tessa says, and Dean hates her. Or he really would like to hate her, but she’s just too sweet and he can’t really bring himself to do it. Still he’s never ever going to tell her anything again. At all. Ever.

They pick him up and Dean finds himself on his feet, wobbling a little but thankfully not toppling over. He feels Castiel’s presence underneath his arm, warm and solid, and again the urge to curl up into him threatens to overwhelm him. Tessa grips him around his waist on the other side, and the three of them get out into the autumn air and walk towards Castiel’s car.

“Cas,” Dean murmurs, and then he shuts up when Castiel glares at him.

“Get into the car,” he says as he unlocks the passenger door, then to Tessa: “Thank you for calling me and for your help. I hope we didn’t ruin your night.”

Tessa smiles, and Dean really can’t not like her even if she’s a treacherous traitor. “No worries. Just get him home safe.”

“Yes,” Castiel answers, and then he goes to open the driver’s side of the car, leaving Dean with Tessa by the passenger side without as much as looking at him.

“Hey,” Tessa says, and Dean has to take his eyes off from the empty space Castiel had just occupied to look at her. “Here’s my number.”

“Wha—“

“Call me in the morning just so I know you’re all right.”

Dean looks at her and smiles a little, the pressure in his chest that Castiel brought back with him easing up some.

“Will do.”

Tessa lets him go, and Dean opens the door and slides down into the seat. She smiles a last smile at Castiel, who nods at her curtly, and then she leans down to kiss Dean on the cheek. “You’re welcome.”

“Yeah…”

Tessa closes the passenger door, winks at him and then she’s gone.

Dean turns into the seat and takes a look at Castiel. “I didn’t need you to come save me,” he blurts, and Castiel grunts and starts the car.

“I disagree. Evidently you needed someone mature enough to pick you up and drive you home.”

Dean laughs at that, a bitter sound that doesn’t give him any satisfaction whatsoever. “That’s rich coming from you.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean, Dean?”

“It means that you’re a fucking coward who fucked off and didn’t even look back.” Dean almost yells.

It’s not fair, Dean knows it isn’t. He also knows that he is the real coward, that Castiel shouldn’t be blamed for leaving if it was Dean who drove him away. But he missed him, missed his voice and his face and his hands on his skin and the thought of Cas leaving him behind, not wanting him anymore makes him hate the world.

Castiel is silent beside him; he doesn’t deny the accusation, and Dean closes his eyes and wishes he could be anywhere but here.  

 

—

 

The drive home lasts only minutes, even though Dean guesses that’s probably because he passed out for most of it. Castiel stays silent, and that suits Dean just fine; he’s not really in the mood for a conversation.

He gets hauled out of the car when they arrive, and Dean is still too confused to do anything but go with it. He feels hands around his body, fingers inside the pockets of his jeans as his friend fishes out his keys and pulls him inside the door and up the stairs. They stagger and stumble, steps uneven and heavy and Dean feels utterly humiliated as they finally barge inside the apartment. They don’t speak, not until the door is closed behind them and Castiel still doesn’t let him go as he drags him into the bathroom. Dean is mostly aware of everything that’s happening, but he’s still too slow and out of it to fight Castiel when he really understands what he’s is doing.

“What the fuck—“ Dean gasps as when Castiel pushes him inside the shower, cold water pounding over his head, in his eyes and through his clothes.

“Shut up,” Castiel growls from behind him.

Dean tries to move, but Castiel’s grip over his shoulder is like iron and it keeps him in place; there’s no way for him to get away from it and Dean splutters and swears, tries halfheartedly to kick himself free.

He fails miserably and Castiel doesn’t let him go until he’s satisfied of Dean’s level of lucidity. When the water finally stops he speaks again. “Are you feeling better?”

Dean turns around and looks at him disbelievingly. “What the hell was that?” he yells. He shakes his head and water flies everywhere around him; his clothes cling to his skin and Castiel is looking at him with a thunderous, angry expression that makes Dean shiver harder than the cold.

“That was me helping you.”

“And who the fuck asked for your help anyway?”

Castiel grins, humorless and ugly. “Tessa. She took your phone when you passed out, in case you were wondering, and called me to come pick you up.”

Dean looks around for a towel only to see Castiel handing him one; he rips it from his hands and doesn’t look him in the eyes as he starts to dry himself up. “That little— I swear I’m never gonna talk to her again.”

Castiel’s voice softens as he takes a step back. “She was nice. You should call her tomorrow and thank her.”

Dean snickers at that, almost amused at the absurdity of it all. “Right, because she did me such a good favor calling you tonight.”

“You’re home, Dean. You’re safe. Sober, even, though not yet a hundred percent.” Castiel is looking at him with contempt, and in that moment Dean can almost believe he hates the guy.

“I’m sober enough to know that I don’t want you here,” he says, and he feels his chest constrict and cave in under the lie.

Castiel’s eyes narrow, a little flicker of hurt ghosting over his face before it fades completely, leaving an impassive face behind. “Very well. I’m not so happy myself so I guess we’re even.”

“Then go. I would say take your shit and leave but guess what? You already did that!” Dean doesn’t realize he’s yelling until he feels his own voice echo on the bathroom walls. He tries to mop himself up with a towel, take the chill away, but it won’t go and it settles deeper into his bones when Castiel doesn’t answer. “What. You have nothing to say now?”

Castiel sighs then, and it’s not an angry sound so much as a sad one. Dean spares a quick glance at him and regrets it right away at the exhausted look on his friend’s face. He wipes away the rest of the water from his face, takes a look at his soaking self in frustration and starts to take his drenched clothes off. He throws his t-shirt in a corner, lets his socks and pants follow and only realizes he’s practically naked in front of Castiel like it’s not a big deal when he hears his friend’s sharp intake of breath.

Dean looks up at him and catches Castiel’s eyes the second he looks away from Dean’s body, blushing a little. It figures that he would get all flustered and prudish at Dean in his underwear now, of course.

Castiel’s reaction makes him feel even more exposed than he already is, like Dean’s skin is gone just like the rest of his clothes and he’s all bare and vulnerable. It’s not far from the truth, to be honest, so Dean snorts angrily, incredulous at the absurdity of it all and walks out of the bathroom and towards his room to change. Castiel follows warily and tries — and fails — to not look at him as Dean looks for a dry shirt to change into.

He can’t feel the alcohol anymore, the shower and the anger at seeing Castiel effectively killing whatever buzz he had going, and he almost misses it.

His room is a mess when he gets inside; clothes he hasn’t bothered to put away in the last week litter the foot of the bed and back of the desktop chair; books and CD's are piled up on the bedside table, a bottle of water on top of them. Dean feels tired just looking at it all, and suddenly looking for a change of clothes seems too much of an hassle.

“Dean,” Castiel murmurs from behind him and Dean turns.

He tries, really tries to hate Castiel, because the way he has of saying Dean’s name hasn’t changed at all over the years. It’s still like a command, like a whole sentence with its own, unique meaning. He is looking at Dean and Dean wants to die, because his friend looks cool and untouchable, distant and completely outside of his grasp, and Dean wants to take a step towards him and just _touch_.

He trembles with the force of it, with the need to put his hands on Castiel and shake him and make him _understand_.  

“Don’t  _Dean_ me, you son of a bitch,” he snaps. “You have no right to come back here and talk to me like nothing’s changed. You left, took your things and   _left_ , man. You couldn’t even look at me. You did it while I was at work, for fuck’s sake! Who the fuck even does that, Cas? Huh?”

Castiel doesn’t answer, and Dean balls his fists against the urge to hit him.

“I miss you,” he blurts out, and it falls out like broken glass, taste of ashes in his mouth. “I fucking miss you, man. You’re my best friend and you _left_. You could have said something, you could have told me if you didn’t want to screw around anymore, if you had changed your mind. Jesus, Cas, it’s not like I would hold that against you.”

He still doesn’t get an answer. Castiel isn’t even looking at him anymore, eyes fixed on the bedroom floor and standing still. His hands are dripping water, still wet from when they pushed Dean under the shower, and they’re restless against his thighs, clenching and unclenching.

“Look at me,” Dean grits through his teeth. “Cas, look at me or I—“

“Or what? You what, Dean? What do you want me to say? I thought I had been clear enough for you when I told you I didn’t want to do this anymore.” Castiel’s voice shakes with barely suppressed anger.

Dean doesn’t give an inch and barrels on, “I want you to still be my friend. I want things to be okay between us.”

Castiel shakes his head once and says, “No.” It’s sure, dismissive, no space for argument there.

“You can’t do that!”  

“I already did, Dean.” Castiel turns around, ready to walk away again, and Dean rushes to stop him. He grips him by the elbow, forces Castiel to turn again andface him.

“No. No, I don’t accept that. This past week has been hell, and I know you miss me too. I just know.” He’s all up in Castiel’s space, pushing into his body as his friend stands his ground, doesn’t give an inch.

“That doesn’t change anything,” Castiel says, and it’s so close to being final Dean doesn’t know what to do anymore.  

Castiel isn’t looking at him, eyes darting anywhere but on Dean, so Dean takes a step closer and cards his hands into his friend’s hair, pushing his head back and forcing him to look up.

“Cas…” he pleads, but Castiel’s gaze hardens again under Dean’s very eyes.

“I have to go, Dean,” and then he disentangles himself from Dean’s hold and moves to get out of the room, out of the apartment, out of Dean’s life again and—no. Just no.  

Dean makes a last attempt to stop him, spitting out, “Fuck, Cas—“ as he corners him against the door again, and then Castiel snaps.

“Why!” he shouts. It startles Dean so much that he’s shocked into silence; Castiel’s voice has always been a low rumble in the background of Dean’s life, and the times Dean’s heard him raise his voice could be counted on one hand. “Why are you doing this, Dean? Why are you insisting so much? Why can’t you just accept this and move on?”

Castiel is panting under the effort of controlling himself, a deep blush rising in his cheeks and an angry shine to his eyes, and Dean just wants to kiss him into calming down. He wants to put his hands on him and keep him rooted next to him forever. He can’t believe there ever was a moment when he didn’t feel this way, when he had denied the possibility and had been scared of what could come out of it.

He doesn’t stop to think then. He’s too angry and frustrated, faint traces of alcohol still clouding his judgement as he takes a step forward, boxing Castiel against the wall with his hands around his head, his body almost pressed against his friend’s. He doesn’t care about his state of undress anymore, doesn’t care about the water still falling randomly from his hair over his back.

“I don’t want you gone, Cas,” he says. It should come out mild and sweet, but instead it’s wrenched out of him with a furious fierceness that surprises him. “It’s as simple as that. I can’t have you gone.”

“Dean—” Castiel’s voice almost gets lost in the space between them, close as they are and still not close enough until Dean finally kisses him.

It’s more forceful than he intends to, more desperate and needy, and Castiel doesn’t even put up much of a fight. He just slumps against the wall, takes the weight of Dean’s body on him as Dean licks into his mouth and bites at Castiel’s lips, kissing him deeper.

Dean’s body sings with the happiness of having Castiel so close again, his hands sneaking around his friend’s body to hold him near, pressed to him until they can almost pretend to be the same thing. He feels Castiel’s hands on him, on his back, in his hair, gripping it and tugging at it forcefully. His bare, still wet chest is soaking into the cotton of Castiel’s shirt, and Dean doesn’t give a fuck and presses even closer.

“Dean—“ Castiel says, wet and panting against Dean’s lips, and Dean nods without knowing why. He only knows that he doesn’t want to let Castiel go—he wants him to _stay_ **—** he wants to push him into his bed and cover him with his body, show him what it is he can’t say in words and somehow make it all right again. “Dean.”

“Cas, just—just—” Dean tries and fails to speak. He opens his eyes and Castiel is there, looking desperate and anxious, out of place. “I’m sorry, I really am.”

Castiel pushes him off in one swift motion then, and Dean hasn’t got the time to be surprised that Castiel is there in his space again, furious. “You don’t get to be sorry, Dean.” Another push and Dean falls over onto his bed, Castiel looking down at him, hands fisted by his sides and eyes glowering in rage; and then, then Castiel literally pounces on him, straddles him and covers Dean with his body until they’re once again face to face, chest to chest. “You think you can do whatever you want, whenever you feel like it. And I let you, because I’m an idiot and I can’t say no to you to save my life. But I can’t anymore, Dean, there’s only so much I can take for your sake. Do you understand?”

Dean doesn’t, not really, because if Castiel is saying what Dean thinks he’s saying then somewhere along the line things went epically wrong for the both of them and Dean feels it's safer to concentrate on how much his wet hair is soaking the sheets of his bed right now.  

“Wha—?”

If looks could kill then Dean would be dead and buried by now because the way Castiel is looking at him in nothing short of murderous. Castiel moves to get up then, and that is all it takes for Dean to react, twist his body forcefully until Castiel is there again, looking up at him with the mattress underneath.

“I never fucked Anna,” Dean says, because of the thousand things he needs to say that’s the first one that comes to mind now. Castiel’s skeptical look at the words should hurt, but Dean knows the way he acts, the way he’s always been kind of a slut when he felt like it and he can’t really fault his friend for not believing him. “I never fucked anyone but you since this thing started.”

“Dean—“

“Listen to me, okay? Just listen. I’m a dick, you’re right, and I’m so sorry you have no idea. But that’s the truth; I wouldn’t lie to you about that. I didn’t even realize it until a couple of weeks ago and when I did I just freaked out; I don’t do things like, like what we were doing, you know that. And that’s why I asked Anna out, to prove to myself I still could fuck around and of course—of course I couldn’t! And I thought you wouldn’t want me, because you always—Oh God, Cas, I don’t even know. I though you wouldn’t want me like _that_ , and I didn’t know how to deal with it.” Dean pants through the end of his speech, embarrassed and scared of what Castiel might say but still feeling lighter now that it’s all in the open. Castiel is looking up at him with wide eyes, and Dean’s heart feels like it’s one beat shy of exploding inside his chest.

“But I thought— I saw your test results, Dean,” Castiel says, frowning deep like that explains everything. “I thought you did it because you wanted to show her; prepare to go steady with her or —”

Dean looks away, a little awkwardly; his voice is small when he speaks, stupidly embarrassed after all he’s already revealed. “I kind of did it to go steady, but not with _her_ exactly...”  

“You fucker,” Castiel hisses, and Dean doesn’t even have the time to be stunned at Castiel cussing when he feels lips pressing against his own and Castiel’s tongue licking at his lower lip. And then Dean doesn’t have time to think about anything at all because all he can feel are Castiel’s hands around him pulling him closer, Castiel’s legs opening and cradling him in between.

Dean only has time to breathe for a second before Castiel’s fingers start touching him everywhere, hands roaming on Dean’s back down to the line of Dean’s boxers, dragging on his skin and hopefully leaving marks. Dean hears Castiel’s shoes thud to the floor one after the other and then Castiel’s socked feet are pushing at Dean’s naked ones and Dean finally, finally gets with the program.

“Are you — are you okay with this?” Dean groans as he makes quick work of Castiel’s clothing, pressing him into the mattress as he tries to get his hands on skin. He’s surprised, fucking stunned at what is happening, but he has to know.

The pull at his hair is sharp, forceful, and Castiel’s eyes are full of certainty when he answers. “Dean, I’ve been okay with this for longer than you can imagine. As long as you tell me you’re now sober enough to understand what’s happening, that is.”

Dean nods enthusiastically, says, “Fuck yes I am, you made sure of that with your damn shower intervention,” and he gets Castiel naked in a matter of minutes. He scrambles to touch as much of Castiel as he possibly can, pushing into him and feeling him through the cotton of his boxer briefs; a hard, pulsing force thrusting up in kind. He moans into the crook of Castiel’s neck, inhales his scent as he licks up slow and dirty along the line of his collarbone and Castiel shivers, scrapes at the skin of Dean’s neck so hard Dean hopes the scratches will stay until the morning.

It’s just like before, Dean thinks; hurried and frenzied and familiar like all the sex they had in their months together, but at the same time it’s completely different. Dean marvels at Castiel’s face, so open under his scrutiny now, hiding nothing as he welcomes Dean’s kisses, Dean’s little love bites on the side of his neck. He’s beautiful like this, and Dean tells him so with every touch of his lips on skin, every thrust of his body.

“Fuck,” Dean pants as he licks his way down to the waistband of Castiel’s underwear; he nips at the sharp cut of his hips, sucks a mark in the flesh and soothes it with his tongue, and then he looks up again when he feels Castiel’ fingers tangle in his wet hair and pull him up. Castiel lifts him until Dean is lying between his spread legs, and hips rise up to meet Dean’s in gentle, inviting thrusts.   

“Yes,” Castiel whispers once he has Dean face to face, “that’s definitely what you have to do now.”

Dean is speechless once again, because this, this never happened before. Castiel never asked for this, never even showed he wanted it. But the way he’s clinging to Dean’s hips with his legs is unmistakable, his heated look too clear for any misunderstanding. Dean nods stupidly, blindly reaching for his bedside drawer and the bottle of lube inside, and he has his fingers coated and warmed up in a matter of seconds as Castiel hurriedly shucks his briefs.

He doesn’t ask Castiel if he’s sure—he knows him well enough to know that he would never ask otherwise—but he still looks at him dead in the eye and murmurs, “Stop me if it’s too much,” when he pushes a finger inside.

He knows Castiel has never done this, but Dean thinks that he takes to it beautifully as his back arches and he moans low and broken, a little smile curving his lips. He’s gorgeous.

“You’re gorgeous,” Dean says, and pushes in another finger as he idly licks a drop of precome from the tip of Castiel’s swollen dick.

He briefly entertains the idea of making Castiel come only with his fingers and his mouth, but he discards it right away; they’ll have time to do it later and for now Dean very much wants to see Castiel come apart around him and under the weight of his body. He has him turned into a whimpering mess in a matter of minutes, and when Castiel says, “Come on, Dean,” Dean is ready.

Scared, maybe, but ready.

He rises above Castiel’s body, looks down and kisses him deep and filthy, kisses him _like he means it_ , and then Dean slots again between his parted thighs; Castiel’s hands grip the cotton of Dean’s underwear and push it down, freeing Dean’s cock from its confines, and Dean startles when he feels a wet, warm hand stroke him until he’s completely lubed up.

“Cas,” Dean moans, “do we need—“

Castiel squeezes him in answer and just guides him, his legs putting pressure on Dean’s back to push them closer.

“It’s fine,” he murmurs against Dean’s lips, and Dean wonders at the satisfaction in Castiel’s voice, at how happy he sounds now that he knows for sure that Dean only ever had him in mind when he thought of fucking someone bare.

The thought is unbelievably hot.

Dean takes a deep breath then, braces himself and pushes against the slight resistance of Castiel’s body, shudders as he feels him open up and take him in; he kisses Castiel sweet and tender, listens as he speaks, voice broken and shaking: “I’ve been wanting this for years, Dean, do you know that?”

“No,” Dean whispers, “no, Cas. Fuck— I didn’t.” He stops to let Castiel adjust around him, gives him the time of two heartbeats before he starts to move. “And you didn’t say anything—” a first, purposeful thrust, “—why didn’t you say?”

Castiel looks at him with guilty eyes, but Dean doesn’t let him answer. He kisses him instead, cradles his head in his hands, swallows the sounds of pleasure he makes as Dean drives into him. “Okay—” Dean nods, “It doesn’t matter anymore, but Jesus _Christ_ are we stupid.”

Castiel laughs softly around a moan at that, and Dean grins. He fucks him deep and fast and like it’s the first time all over again. He pushes him into the mattress, holds Castiel’s wrists above his head and lays him out on display so he can _see_. Dean knows now that Castiel had only been protecting himself and what he was feeling, but at the moment all he wants is watch and memorize and never forget how Castiel looks when he’s coming all over himself; he wants this to be the first memory of a new start.

 

With a swift roll of his body Dean moves them until Castiel is straddling him, his long, lean body arched in pleasure as the angle changes, his dick pulsing out a fat drop of precome. He’s so beautiful Dean can’t do anything but pull him down and kiss him deep again, bite gently at his bottom lip and suck it into his mouth.

 

In the end it doesn’t take them long, both too hyped up to hope to make it last. Castiel comes untouched with Dean as deep inside him as he will go, their eyes locked, lips barely touching, and Dean follows right after.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“When you kissed me on your birthday…I thought I could have you then. I thought that until the morning.”

They’re lying in bed now, naked. For the first time Castiel seems to be in no hurry to get his clothes back and leave the room, but Dean keeps him locked inside the cage of his limbs just in case.

“I had no idea, Cas. I wouldn’t have asked you to—“

Castiel kisses him silent, pushing even more into Dean’s space like a lazy cat on a Sunday morning. His legs tangle with Dean’s and his hand traces idle patterns on Dean’s abdomen.

“I know. I know you really thought it could work like that between us, and it was my fault, too. I know that, and I’m sorry, too. I thought that could be enough for me.”

Dean smiles bitterly at that. “Yeah…except it seems it wasn’t enough for _me_ , either.”

“Mmm…” The way the sound reverberates through Castiel’s body into Dean’s is more intimate than most of the things Dean ever did whilst naked, and he lets it soak into his skin, cherishing it. “Good.”

They are silent for so long Dean thinks Castiel has fallen asleep on him; he stretches his legs a bit, gets comfortable for what will be the first night sleeping with his best friend, and he smiles at the ceiling as his fingers skim through Castiel’s wild shock of hair.

“Dean?” The word comes out rough and heavy with sleep, punctuated with a kiss on his chest that almost tickles.  

“Yeah?”

“I expect breakfast in bed in the morning.”

Dean’s smile gets bigger; he kisses Castiel’s forehead, murmurs, “Sure thing, Cas,” and goes to sleep.

 


End file.
